'jiA^  ^0nc^o^^^; 


^m  anb  Iractiol  Sgsfera 


OF   THE    CULTURE    OF 


VOICE  AND  ACTIO]^, 


AND   A   COMPLETE    ANALYSIS  OF 


THE   HUMAN   PASSIONS, 


APPEIfDIX  OF   EEADKGS  AND  RECITATIONS, 


DESIGNED  FOR 


PUBLIC  SPEAKEBS,  TEACHEHS,  AND  STUDENTS, 


PROF,  j:  Ef 'frobisher 


EABNEST  EXPRESSION  :   NOT  DELICATE  DECLAMATION. 


NEW  YORK: 

lYISON,    PIIINNEY,    B  L  A  K  E  M  A  N,    &C0., 

47  &  49  GREENE  STREET. 

S.    C.    GRIGGS    &    CO.,    CHICAGO. 

1867. 


EDUCATION  DEPT, 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

IVISON,  PHINNEY,  BLAKEMAN,  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States, 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 


Having  been  professionally  engaged  a  number  of  years,  as 
a  Reader  in  Public,  and  also  as  a  Teacher  of  Elocution  in 
New  York,  I  have  frequently  been  consulted  with  reference 
to  various  works  upon  the  subject.  When  a  thorough  inves- 
tigation, a  complete  analysis  was  desired,  I  have  heartily 
recommended  '*Thk  Philosophy  of  the  Hiiman  Voice,'* 
by  Dr.  Rush;  otherwise,  I  have  suggested  different  text- 
books, according  to  the  intentions  of  those  making  the  in- 
quiries. 

At  times,  in  the  latter  case,  I  have  had  misgivings  as  to  the 
results  of  my  advice ;  for,  in  none  of  the  lesser  works  I  have 
recommended,  would  all  the  means  of  vocal  expression  suf- 
ficiently correspond  in  style  to  those  I  inculcated,  and  it 
seined  to  be  the  foem  alone  that  many  persons  paeticularly 
desired. 

Furthermore,  I  have  needed  a  manual  by  which  instruc- 
tion, in  a  method  which  I  claim  in  many  respects  to  be  new 
in  its  plan  and  arrangement,  could  be  imparted  more  reli^^bly 
than  by  oral  means  alone.  I  have,  therefore,  prepared  this 
volume,  as  an  improvement  upon  my  former  efforts,  the  last 
published  five  years  ago,  which  I  now  sei^d  forth  to  accom- 
plish what  it  may  in  the  furtherance  of  the  iioble  art  of  read- 
ing and  speaking  well. 

In  the  following  treatise  I  have  inserted,  occasionally,  quo- 
tations from   authors  on  art  and  painting;^  a^  w^ll  as  elocu- 


mSOQ-ISS 


4  PREFACE. 

tion;  but  as,  in  many  instances,  I  have  'oery  considerably 
changed  their  phraseology  to  acla[)t  them  to  my  meaning^  I 
liave  omitted  entirely  the  usual  punctuative  marks,  which,  if 
used,  would  be  variously  scattered  throughout,  as  well  as 
placed  at  the  sides  of  the  pages,  and  tlius  tend  to  disSgure 
their  typographical  appearance. 

I  have  borrowed  incidentally  another's  vehicle,  making 
the  necessary  alterations,  to  transmit  my  own  impressions  at 
a  smaller  sacrifice  of  time  than  by  contriving  a  means  alto- 
gether original. 

If  tlie  critic  chooses,  how^ever,  to  be  captious  and  illiberal 
with  such  an  arrangement  he  may  be  so  at  his  pleasure. 
With  the  more  indulgent  of  mankind  I  sincerely  hope  my 
intentions  will  justify  the  course  I  have  pursued. 

I  have  drawn  from  numerous  sources,  but  my  chief  inspira- 
ration  is  due  to  a  thorough,  laborious  study  of  "  The  Philoso- 
phy^^ of  Dr.  Rush,  Many  of  the  illustrations^  though  in  Siform 
of  my  own^  are  from  the  above-mentioned  work. 

In  the  practical  part  of  this  system  I  have  so  enlarged 
upon  the  elements,  and  mechanized  the  examples,  that  many 
will  doubtless  pass  a  hasty  judgment  upon  its  efficacy.  My 
0W71  ohservation  and  daily  experience  satisfies  me,  however, 
that  the  art  of  elocution  can  be  successfully  taught  only  in 
some  such  manner  as  I  herein  suggest.  I  also  feel  satisfied 
that  a  CAEEFUL  study  and  teial  of  this  system,  not  a  mekb 
PEEUSAL,  will  induce  others  to  believe  as  I  do. 

Speaking  is  an  aet  ;  and  in  one  sense  all  arts  are  median- 
ical.  They  have  all  seemingly  arbitrary  principles,  or  laws. 
Music,  Painting,  and  Sculpture,  have  an  infinitude  of  details ; 
and  there  is  no  rer.son  whatever  why  Elocution  should  be 
exempt  from  some  such  similar  restraints,  or  limits,  which 
do  not  ENFEEBLE  art  by  this  necessary  restriction,  but  gijidb 


PEEFACE.  5 

acd  IMPEL  it  in  the  proper  direction  only  to  increase  its 
NATURAL  tendencies. 

In  this  method  I  have  simply  done  what  the  conjoined 
experiments  of  voice,  ear,  and  eye,  have  suggested  to  be  tlie 
BEST  means  of  showing  others  how  to  practice  by  analysis^ 
instead  of  relying  on  mere  impulse  and  i:sstinctive  ungoided 
effort.  To  be  sure,  I  have  multiplied  the  combinations  of 
principles  in  a  great  variety  of  ways,  but  if  the  student  will 
remember  that  there  are  but  five  great  leading  principles, 
and  the  object  is  to  develops  them  more  successfully,  he  will 
not  become  alarmed  at  the  abundance  of  means  before  him. 

These  five  principles,  as  enumerated  by  Dr.  Rush,  embrace 
everything.  They  are  as  follows  : — Quality,  which  includes 
the  NATURxiL,  the  falsette,  the  whispering,  and  the  oro- 
tund VOICES ;  force,  which  comprehends  the  different  sti^esscs 
&c. ;  QUANTITY,  which  refers  to  the  time  of  syllables  and 
PAUSES  in  discourse ;  abruptness,  the  staccato  of  speech, 
which  differs  essentially  from  slow  or  rapid  time ;  and  pitch, 
to  which  belong  the  skips,  slides,  and  waves,  of  whole  tones 
and    semitones. 

The  great  trouble  of  studying  Elocution  without  the  living 
teacher  arises,  principally,  from  the  novitiate  mistaking  com- 
binations and  the  higher  graces  for  the  principles  them- 
selves, and  thus  becoming  disheartened  at  the  seeming 
amount  of  work  before  him.  If  properly  pursued.  Elocution 
becomes  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  studies,  and  it  is  hoped 
that  these  pages  may  tend  to  prove  it  such. 

The  selections  for  reading  and  speaking,  in  the  latter  part 
of  this  Manual,  were  chosen,  in  most  instances,  because  less 
frequently  found  in  works  of  this  kind.  The  author  has  only 
taken  such  old  pieces,  for  practice  with  pupils,  as  he  deemed 
necessary,  and  then  endeavored,  as  far  as  possible^  to  add  new 


6  PREFACE. 

material,  of  a  humorous  as  well  as  serious  style,  hoping  there- 
by to  suit  a  variety  of  tastes.  How  far  he  has  succeeded  in 
this  attempt  he  leaves  others  to  jmlge. 

The  diagram  on  page  88,  was  executed  by  one  of  the  ladies 
of  the  Engraving  Class  of  the  Cooper  Union. 

In  conclusion,  the  author  would  most  heartily  acknowl- 
edge the  very  valuable  assistance  of  Mr.  D.  F.  Dimon,  Elo- 
cutionist, of  this  city. 

J.  E.  F. 

New  Yobk,  Jan,  Ist,  1867. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Culture  of  the  Voice. — Public  Speaking. — The  Throat  and 
Lungs  how  used. — Irritation  of  the  Throat. — Energizing  the 
Voice.—  Healthy  Lungs  and  Loud  Speaking. — Voice  for  Dis- 
tance.— Clear,  Sonorous  Sounds. — Capacity  of  the  Lungs. — 
Retentive  Breath. — Increase  of  Volume  and  Power 11 

The  Silent  Practice. — Inward  Mental  and  Outward  Physical 
Force. — Subdued  Vocality. — Intense  Will. — Vehement  Ges- 
ticulation.— Pacing  the  Boom. — To  prevent  straining 21 

Expression. — Reality  and  Sensibility. — Earnest  Orators,  Delicate 
Declaimers. — Simplicity. — The  Two  Extremes. — Commisera- 
tion.— Artlessness  in  Vehemence. — Rapid  Speech. — The 
Most  Eloquent  Manner. — Extraordinary  Means. — The  Dis- 
play of  Self 22 

Reading.  —  Dramatic,  Theatrical. — Far-Fetched  Expression. — 
Familiar  Conversation. — Defects  and  Excellencies. — The 
Voice  in  Public. — Another's  Opinion. — Reasoning  out  tlic 
Language. — The  Ruling  Passion ;    Prevailing  Sentiment 29 

Reading    op    poetry. — Pausing.  —  Sing-Song. — Dwelling     on 

lihymes. — ^Blank  Verse 32 

Personation. — Changing  the Toice. — The  Face  and  Chest. — An- 
alysis of  Characters. — Peculiarities  of  Expression. — Two  or 
more  persons. — Humorous  styles. — Garrick,  Webster,  Clay. 
— The  Most  Successful. — To  be  a  Well-Balanced  Orator 32 

Action. — Awkward  Attitudes. — Retention  of  Expression,  Atti- 
tude and  Action. — The  Graces  of  Gesture. — The  Habits  of 
Students. — Different  Styles. — Dropping  Gestures. — Alter- 
nating.— Watching  Children. — The  Hawk  and  Eagle 36 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The  Passions. — Developed  and  Trained. — To  Counteract  Exag- 
geration.— The  Greatest  Effects. — Servilely  Copying. — The 
Eloquence  of  a  look. — Highly  Intensive  States. — Imitation. 
— Orators  and  Actors... 40 

The  Features. — The  Eyes,  the  Eye-Brows,  the  Nose,  the  Mouth, 

and  lips 44 

The  Great  Masters. — The    Great   Orators    and   Actors. — The 

Stage. — Mrs.  Siddons. — Edmund  Kean. — The  Elder  Booth...     45 

Habits  of  the  Orator. — Smoking  and  Chewing. — The  Food. — 
Speaking  after  Eating.— The  Teeth.— The  Clothing.— The 
Muscles  of  the  Throat. — Clergymen. — Things  to  Improve  the 
Voice. — Hoarseness. — Nostrums. — Drinking  Water 48 

Especially  for  Students. — Going  on  to  the  Stage. — Bowing. — 
The  Correct  Way. — Commencing. — Reading  an  Essay. — 
Reasons  for  Gestures.  — The  Method  of  Study. — After  an 
Oration  is  Committed. — Prompting^  on  Public  Occasions 50 

General  Directions. — Beginning. — Feeling  at  Ease. — The  Way 
to  Acquire  Assurance. — The  Manner  of  Looking  at  an  Audi- 
ence.— Changing  position. — A  Listening  Audience. — Uncon- 
scious Breathing 54 

Short  Hints. — Reading  and  Feeling. — Declaiming  and  Talking. 
— Force  and  Rant. — Suppressed  Power. — Concentration. — 
Beauties  of  Delivery 57 

Practical  Elocution. — Breathing. — Inner  Lining  and  Muscles 
of  the  Throat. — Method  of  Breathing. — Dizziness. — Time 
OccJiipied  in  Breathing. — Expansion  of  the  Lungs.  — Elas- 
ticity of  the  Chest. — Breathing  Through  the  Nostrils. — 
Audible  ;  Forcible  Breathing. — Sighing,  Gasping,  Panting. — 
The  Loud  Whisper 59 

Articulation. — Method  of  Practice. — Pure  Tone. — All  the  diffi- 
cult Combinations 61 

Force. — Nine  Degrees. — The  Stresses 83 

Pitch.— Singing  and  Speaking. — Skips,  Slides,  Waves, — Ques- 
tions and    Answers. — High    Notes. — Conversation,    Public 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAGE. 

Speaking,  Drawling  and  Monotony. — Radical  and  Vanishing 
Movement. — Modulation  and  Melody. — The  Six  Cadences. — 
Intonation  at  Pauses 81 

Time. — Quantity. — Pausing. — Supplying  the   Lungs. — Rules  for 

Pausing. — Rythmus lOO 

Expression. — Quality. — Tones. — The  Natural,  Orotund,  Falsette 

and  Whispering  Voices 104 

Grouping  of  Speech  and  Emphasis. — Syllables 105 

Intonation. — Expressive  Intonation 107 

Action  and  Gesture. — Six  Gestures. — The  Fingers,  Palm,  Arms, 
— Motion,  Direction,  Manner. — The  Face,  Feet. — Explana- 
tions.— Examples 108 

The  Passions. — A  Graduated  Scale. — A  Complete  Analysis  of 

the  Passions 123 

Examples   of  the  Passions 132 


Selections. 

Readings  for  Practice 142 

The  Cavalry  Charge 166 

The  First  and  Last  Dinner 168 

The  Devil  and  the  Lawyers lYl 

Very  Dark 172 

Pat  and  the  Pig 173 

The  Old  Man  Dreams 0.  W.  Holmes.   174 

Popping  Corn 175 

The  Battle Geo.  W.  Birdseye.   177 

The  Birth  of  Erin 180 

Metaphysics 182 

E  Pluribus  Unum 185 

A  Scene  in  Ventriloquism 186 

The  Old  Chapel  Bell JohnG.  Saxe.   190 

The  Frenchman  and  the  Flea  Powder 193 

Pat  and  his  Musket 194 

Mulrooney 195 

Early  Rising John  G.  Saxe.   190 

1* 


10  CONTENTS. 

Short  Extracts  for  Speaking. 

PAGE. 

Eloquence. — Poetry. — Shakspeare 198 

Russian  Campaign. — Enthusiasm. — Vanity 201 

Plato. — Amusements. — Knowledge 203 

Greatness. — Shakspeare's  Sensibility. — Washington 206 

Intellect. — Men  of  Principle. — Dominion 208 

City  of  Liberty. — Webster. — California 211 

The  Classics. — Public  Instruction. — True  Glory 213 

Perseverance. — Bonaparte. — Self-Culture 215 

Heroism. — Moral  Taste. — Sketch  of  Webster 21*7 

Allegiance. — Literary  Men. — National  Greatness 220 

The  Wise  and  Good.— Writers 222 

Orators. — Lafayette, — Washington 225 

Home  Influence. — The  Problem. — Heroic  Example 22*7 

Nationality. — Revolutions. — National  Ensign 230 

Perpetuity  of  the  Union. — Our  Heroic  Dead. — Our  Heroes 232 

Political  Morality. — Greatest  Glory.— Love  of  Country. 234 

Loyalty  to  Liberty. — Our  Inheritance. — Free  Homes 237 

Great  Men's  Minds. — Selections — Love  of  Country. — Mind 239 

Selections. 

A  Categorical  Courtship 242 

Mutual  Assistance 243 

The  Courtin' J.  R.  Lovell.   244 

Jonteel  Homme 246 

Billy  and  Betty 248 

Fortitude 250 

Literary  Studies 253 

Psalm  13Yth 257 

Slain  at  Sadowa 257 

Children  in  the  Moon 259 

Sheridan's  Ride 260 

Classes — Readings 263 

Testimonials 263 


CULTURE  OF  THE  VOICE. 


To  one  who  has  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  subject 
the  study  of  Elocution  seems  to  be  a  great  undertaking. 
Much  has  been  said,  and  many  panegyrics  have  been 
pronounced  upon  the  art  ;  indeed  a  vast  amount  has 
been  written  also  upon  the  necessity  of  study  and  prac- 
tice of  elementary  elocution  in  order  to  become  a  good 
reader  or  speaker ;  and  yet  all  that  has  been  said  and 
written,  in  both  ancient  and  modern  times,  can  be  con- 
densed into  the  very  concise  and  limited  expression — 
Be  Natural. 

Nature  is  harmonious,  and,  being  governed  by  im- 
mutable laws,  produces  only  sweet  concords  of  sound 
and  motion.  When  these  laws  are  violated,  discord  is 
the  inevitable  result.  This  holds  good — particularly 
so — in  human  speech.  Man,  when  closeted  from  active 
life,  engaged  in  the  depths  of  philosophic  pursuits  and 
studies,  becomes  a  passive  receptacle  of  thought.  He 
thus  perverts  and  violates  Nature's  laws  by  the  expan- 
sion of  his  mental,  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  vocal  and 
physical  powers. 

Public  speaking  should  be  energetic  in  its  character. 
The  larger  public  spaces  are  to  be  filled  with  a  fulness 
and  strength  of  voice  that  comes  from  a  more  than 
mere  every-day  conversational  power  of  expression  ; 
and  unless  persons  have  already  this  character  of  voice, 
they  must  of  necessity^  by  an  elementary  and  persistent 
thorough  practice,  tone  up  their  vocal  organs  requisite 


5  2  ,     .yOIGE    AND   ACTION. 

to  the  demand,  prior  to  any  considerable  effort  in  the 
use  of  them,  or  failure  will  he  inevitable.  Articulate 
words,  to  be  heard  agreeably  by  an  audience,  must  be 
well  filled  and  made  round,  with  air  expelled  from 
strong,  active  lungs.  It  behooves  us,  therefore,  in  the 
first  place,  to  see  that  the  breathing  apparatus  is  in 
good  working  order.  To  regulate  this  portion,  and  to 
Bee  that  it  works  easily  and  appropriately,  should  be 
our  first  effort  toward  improvement  in  this  noble  art. 
By  training  our  lungs  so  that  we  can  breathe  deeply 
and  thoroughly,  and  fill  the  very  lowest  air-cells  in  them, 
and  thus  speak  with  the  whole^  as  it  were,  of  ourselves 
and  not  simply  with  the  lips  and  throat,  we  shall  expe- 
rience none  of  those  distressing  feelings  which  so  har- 
ass the  larger  portion  of  our  public  speakers,  in  the 
shape  of  bronchitis  and  other  annoying  throat-diseases. 
The  throat  should  very  rarely  he  used  other  than  as 
an  extended  or  widened  passage^  straight  in  its  direction, 
for  breath  to  come  up  from  the  lungs,  and  thus  be 
made  a  secondary  instrument  in  forming  articulate  ex- 
pression of  our  thoughts. 

All  irritation  of  the  throat,  as  far  as  regards  its  use 
in  public  speaking,  arises  from  the  comparative  exclu- 
siveness  of  its  employment,  and  thus  making  it  do 
nearly  all  the  work,  when  it  should  be  used  merely 
as  an  assistant. 

This  straining  the  throat,  instead  of  energizing  the 
voice,  proves  the  ruin  and  misery  of  many  who  might, 
under  proper  cultivation,  become  celebrated  among  the 
gifted. 

The  lungs  are  the  great  means  ;  the  throat,  mouth, 
tongue,  teeth,  lips,  and  even  the  nose,  only  assist  in 
forming  that  wonderful  ieature,  the  human  voice.  They 
would  all  work  with  comparative  ease  and  comfort  to 
their  individual  owners,  from  the  first  beam  of  intelli- 


VENTILATION    AND    BREATHING.  13 

gence  upon  infantile  mind,  even  into  advanced  age,  were 
they  not  cramped  by  enervating,  artificial  habits.  The 
atmosphere  of  ill-ventilated,  over-heated  school-rooms, 
dwellings,  churches,  places  of  business,  public  halls, 
colleges,  and,  in  short,  all  sedentary  pursuits,  have  the 
strongest  tendency  to  weaken  the  lungs  and  prevent 
their  proper  action.  The  air  breathed  in  such  places, 
and  under  such  circumstances,  becomes  greatly  insuf- 
ficient and  impure  ;  the  lack  of  exercise  also  lessens  the 
animal  heat  of  the  body,  and  artificial  heat  is  supplied 
and  kept  in  the  rooms  with  dosed  doors  and  windows^ 
till  it  is  breathed  over  and  over  again^  and  rendered 
fearfully  poisonous  and  totally  unfit  for  further  use. 

This  weakens  all  parts  of  the  system,  but  chiefly  the 
lungs,  and  the  muscles,  membranes,  and  delicate  linings 
of  the  throat.  These  lose  their  vigor,  and  become 
doubly  susceptible  to  the  slightest  chafing, 

Now  the  sooner  a  person  learns  to  breathe,  and 
learns  that  the  air  must  be  fresh  and  pure,  the  sooner 
he  will  feel  what  it  is  to  have  sound  lungs  and  throat, 
and  furthermore,  what  it  is  to  speak  at  least  with  ease 
and  comfort,  if  not  with  skill  and  elegance. 

In  order  that  the  lungs  and  vocal  apparatus  may  be 
strengthened  correctly,  they  should  first  be  exercised 
independently  of  language,  by  a  series  of  vocal  gym- 
nastic exercises. 

But,  even  with  healthy  lungs  and  a  strong  voice, 
there  is  great  liability  to  mismanagement  of  the  vocal 
powers  in  loud  speaking  ;  for,  when  uncultivated,  the 
voice  seems  inclined  naturally,  when  energetically  used, 
to  rise  to  a  high  and  piercing  pitch  in  vociferation, 
making  the  effort  extremely  painful  to  the  speaker  and 
unpleasant  to  the  hearer.  This  manner  of  speaking  tears 
the  sides  of  the  throat,  producing  inflammation  and 
bronchitis.     In  the  immediate  exercise  it  over-exhausts 


14  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

the  air  from  the  lungs,  causing  an  inward  pressure  and 
sinking  of  the  chest,  which  gives  rise  to  sharp,  acute 
pains. 

Those  who  speak  from  pure  excitement  alone,  espe- 
daily  novices  in  the  art,  are  most  likely  to  alFect  this 
style.  They  lose  all  command  of  the  voice,  and  make 
sad  havoc  of  themselves  by  the  very  powers  which,  if 
cultivated  to  the  necessary  standard,  would  prove  won- 
derfully effective. 

How  many  clergymen  do  we  see  that  have  broken 
themselves  down  by  an  improper  management  of  the 
lungs  and  voice  !  They  have  struggled  on  in  the  vio- 
lence of  their  excitement  until  they  have  prematurely 
ruined  themselves.  By  a  just  application  of  principles, 
they  could  have  controlled  their  voices  at  pleasure, 
and  made  them  subserve  any  reasonable  and  satisfactory 
demand. 

Many  a  voice  is  said  to  be  feeble  because  it  is 
formed  in  the  throat,  with  the  least  perceptible  assist- 
ance of  the  lungs,  and  an  improper  use  is  made  of  the 
vocal  organs.  At  the  very  time  such  a  voice  may  be 
strong,  but  its  power  is  smothered  by  erroneous  appli- 
cation of  means. 

Demosthenes,  whose  voice  was  w:ak,  whose  articu- 
lation was  defective,  by  a  course  of  systematic  training 
such  as  few  have  ever  subjected  themselves  to,  demon- 
strated that  the  practical  application  of  the  principles 
of  this  art  can  be  learned.  Cicero,  even  after  he  had 
attained  to  some  eminence  as  a. pleader,  his  voice  being 
harsh,  and  as  in  high  excitement  he  rose  to  a  high 
pitch,  fearing  he  might  strain  himself,  applied  to 
teachers,  and  even  went  to  Asia  and  other  places,  to 
hear  the  best,  and  receive  further  instruction.  The 
ancient  orators  thought  the  culture  of  the  voice  the 
matter  of  first  importance. 


VOCIFERATION.  15 

Curran  cultivated  his  powers  with  the  utmost  assi- 
duity. His  voice  and  utterance  were  naturally  shrill 
and  impeded;  or,  as  he  remarked,  in  a  state  of  nature » 
He  daily  read  aloud,  slowly  and  distinctly,  and  studi- 
ously observed  and  imitated  skilful  speakers.  The 
success  of  this  exercise  was  so  complete  that  his  greatest 
excellencies  were  the  clearness  of  his  articulation  and  a 
graduated  intonation.  His  person  was  without  grace 
or  dignity,  short  and  ill-proportioned,  and  to  conceal 
these  cZe^'cienoies  he  practised  continually  before  a  mir- 
ror to  acquire  the  proper  action.  He  debated  questions 
alone,  as  if  he  were  before  the  club.  He  declaimed 
from  Junius,  Milton,  Shakspeare  and  others.  By 
industry  he  rose  to  eminence. 

Dr.  Rush  says,  few  persons  are  aware  of  the  influ- 
ence that  loud  speaking  or  vociferation  has  on  the 
quality  of  the  voice.  It  is  one  of  the  artiticial  modes 
of  producing  the  orotund.  It  takes  the  voice  from  its 
meagre  mincing  about  the  lips,  and  transfers  it,  at 
least  in  semblance,  to  the  back  of  the  mouth,  or  to  the 
throat.  It  imparts  a  grave  fulness  to  its  quality ;  and, 
by  creating  a  strength  of  organ,  gives  confidence 
to  the  speaker  in  his  more  forcible  efforts,  and  an 
unhesitating  facility  in  all  the  moderate  exertions  of 
speech. 

When  the  mind  is  prepared  by  elementary  and  by 
systematic  practice,  the  feeling  which  prompts  expres- 
sion will  find  the  confirmed  and  pliant  organ  ready  to 
effect  a  satisfactory  and  elegant  accomplishment  of  its 
designs. 

The  organs  of  speech  are  capable  of  a  certain  range 
of  exertion.  To  fulfil  all  the  demands  of  a  complete 
Elocution,  they  should  be  carried  to  the  full  extent  of 
that  capability.  No  one  can  read  correctly  or  with 
elegance,  if  he  does  not  both  understand  and  feel  what 


16  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

lie  utters.  But  these  are  not  exclusively  the  means  of 
success.  Sense  and  feeling  must  have  a  well-tempered 
material  in  the  voice. 

In  speaking  of  the  mental  requisites  for  good  read- 
ing, we  must  not  overlook  our  frequent  neglect  to  dis- 
criminate between  strong  feelings  and  delicate  ones. 

The  mind,  or  nervous  temperament,  must  furnish 
the  design  of  Elocution  ;  the  ear  must  watch  over  the 
lines  and  coloring  of  its  expression. 

An  ability  to  measure  nicely  the  time,  force,  and 
pitch  of  sounds,  is  indispensable  to  the  higher  excel- 
lencies of  speech.  It  is  impossible  to  say  how  much 
of  the  musical  ear,  properly  so  called,  is  the  result  of 
cultivation. 

The  voice,  for  public  speaking,  must  be  larger 
than  for  conversation,  and  be  properly  proportioned. 
In  illustration,  to  a  certain  extent,  might  be  cited  the 
story  of  the  statues.  A  large  public  edifice  required  a 
statue  as  the  crowning  piece  upon  its  loftiest  tower 
high  above  the  rest  of  its  architectural  designs. 
Orders  were  issued  that  the  various  sculptors  of  the 
country  might  compete  in  furnishing  an  appro- 
priate figure.  The  day  appointed  at  length  arrived, 
and  among  the  rest  was  a  huge,  rough,  but  well- 
proportioned  statue,  giant-like  in  size,  which  was  not 
only  rejected  by  the  judges  without  deliberation,  but 
was  the  ridicule  of  all. 

The  finest  and  most  suitable  of  the  others  was  then 
selected  ;  it  was  raised  aloft  to  the  tower,  but  it  was 
too  small  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  great  height,  and 
its  polished  surface  so  reflected  the  rays  of  the  sun  as 
to  make  it  an  undistinguishable  mass  of  stone. 

It  was  lowered  to  the  ground,  and  after  some  hesi- 
tation it  was  decided  at  last  to  try  the  large  one  so 
rudely  rejected.     To  the  surprise  of  all  it  was  none  too 


SONOEOUS    SOUNDS.  17 

large,  and  its  roughness  only  served  to  absorb  the 
glare  of  the  sun  and  to  give  a  just  and  agreeable 
reflection  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  gazed  upon  it. 

Thus  it  is  with  public  speaking  ;  an  ordinary  voice 
is  too  small.  Distance  and  large  spaces  require  a  large 
voice.  As  regards  the  application  of  the  foregoing 
illustration,  the  voi(je  has  decidedly  the  advantage,  for 
it  can  be  cultivated  to  a  strong  sonorous  condition, 
and  be  used  with  the  utmost  delicacy  in  conversation, 
and  sound  immeasurably  richer  than  a  puny  voice,  or 
it  can  be  applied  in  the  most  energetic  manner  to  pub- 
lic speaking,  with  equal  facility.  Its  public  exertion 
need  not  destroy  its  private  delicacy. 

The  clear  and  robust  sounds  depend  upon  breath- 
ing gently ;  not  forcing  the  breath,  but  sparing  it,  that 
the  delicate  muscles  of  the  throat  and  palate  may  not 
be  irritated,  but  become  more  elastic,  and  expand 
into  an  arch-like  shape.  Sounds  are  more  sonorous 
and  clear  from  the  space  they  vibrate  in.  Thus  know- 
ing how  to  spare  and  make  good  use  of  the  breath  is 
of  the  greatest  importance,  as  this  gives  the  power  of 
expanding  and  sustaining  firm  sounds,  of  sending  forth 
the  voice  in  the  most  energetic  or  most  delicate  m,anner^ 
and  so  coloring  every  emotion  the  sense  requires. 

Sometimes  early  defective  example  places  the  stu- 
dent in  a  painful  and  embarrassing  position.  When 
bis  manner  is  formed,  and  the  organs  of  speech  are 
hardened  into  almost  inflexible  rigidity,  he  discovers 
something  wrong.  He  then  applies  himself  to  the 
study  of  Elocution,  in  hope  of  eflacing,  in  a  few  les- 
sons, the  habits,  and  acquiring,  in  a  short  time,  the 
mastery  of  an  art,  which,  from  the  union  it  requires  of 
judgment,  taste,  and  feeling  with  natural  qualifications 
and  mechanical  skill,  is,  perhaps,  surpassed  by  none  in 
difiiculty  of  acquisition.     Discredit  is  thrown  upon  the 


18  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

art,  which  properly  belongs  to  the  artist^  at  such  a 
time. 

He  has,  it  is  true,  an  arduous,  though  not  msiiper- 
able  task.  He  must  retrograde  and  begin  again.  Let 
him  labor  steadily  and  perseveringly  in  private,  but 
cast  aside  all  attention  to  manner  when  in  public.  Let 
improvement  be  the  gradual  and  unconscious  result  of 
previous  practice.  He  should  avoid  all  appearance  of 
display,  and  of  a  puerile  preference  of  the  means  to  the 
great  ends  to  be  attained. 

Elocution  cannot  be  taught  by  rules.  One  is  sure 
to  employ  the  inflections  of  voice  that  are  natural  and 
suitable,  the  shortest  and  easiest  way,  if  the  voice  is 
sufficiently  trained,  and  the  meaning  understood.  Aim 
directly  at  becoming  a  good  sp^aher.  When  this  end 
is  attained,  rules  are  needless. 

All  have  the  public  voice  but  with  most  it  is 
undeveloped.  With  such  it  requires  faithful,  systematic, 
long-continued  practice. 

A  young  man  once  applied  to  a  celebrated  vocalist 
for  instruction.  The  agreement  was  that  he  would  be 
received  one  year  on  condition  that  he  would  patiently 
faithfully  practise  as  he  was  directed.  The  instruction 
commenced  on  a  plain  but  irksome  exercise,  which  was 
repeated  day  after  day  without  the  least  variation, 
except  as  to  a  rigid,  exacting  increase  of  skill  in  its 
execution.  This  continued  for  three,  tor  six  months, 
and  then  the  pupil  thought  there  would  certainly  be 
some  change.  But  no ;  the  entire  year  was  exhausted 
on  this  one,  simple,  but  all-efficient  exercise.  Now 
what? 

The  pupil  agreed  to  another  year,  and  to  his  sur- 
prise it  was  merely  another  feature  for  the  entire 
twelve  months.  One  more  year  of  equal  perseverance 
he  was  told  would  finish  his  instruction.     To  the  utter 


FORMING   THE    VOICE.  19 

astonishraent  of  the  young  man,  another  year  passed 
with  not  even  a  new  exercise,  but  a  combination  of 
those  of  the  preceding  years.  Three  years  of  toil 
had  expired  and  he  awaited  the  advice  of  the  vocalist. 
He  was  told  that  he  had  received  all  that  it  was  in  the 
power  of  his  teacher  to  impart  as  regarded  the  culti- 
vation of  his  voice,  and  he  was  urged  to  go  forth  into 
the  world  and  use  it. 

Thus  it  is  with  reading  and  speaking;  the  voice 
is  first  to  be  formed.  It  is  to  be  strengthened  by  an 
increased  capacity  of  the  lungs^  and  an  acquired  strong 
respiratory  action.  Its  thorough  discipline  must  be 
mastered,  from  the  lightest  whisper  to  the  loudest 
shouting ;  not  with  a  view  to  actual  use,  but  for  secur- 
ing a  command  over  every  degree  of  force  and  pliancy. 
Even  in  a  few  weeks  a  stentorian  power  can  be  im- 
parted to  a  comparatively  weak  voice.  This  practice, 
if  understood,  is  highly  invigorating  and  enables  a 
person  to  operate  easily  with  either  the  lightest  or  the 
most  energetic  eiForts. 

When  I  speak  of  the  capacity  of  the  lungs,  I  do  not 
mean  a  large  chest  simply,  for  the  chest  may  be  broad 
but  the  lungs  may  resemble  the  dried  up  meat  of  a 
filbert.  Dumb-bells  do  not  expand  the  lungs  but 
merely  enlarge  their  chamber.  The  only  true  means 
is  by  systematic^  artistic  breathing ;  and  hardening  the 
muscles  around  the  neck  by  wearing  the  clothing 
sufficiently  loose  to  allow  the  air  to  circulate  freely 
around  them. 

It  is  absolutely  necessary,  before  fluent  and  easy 
utterance,  to  have  command  over  a  greater  quantity  of 
air  in  the  lungs,  and  to  invigorate  and  brace  up  the 
muscles  around  the  throat,  to  give  them  an  expansive 
energy  to  admit  and  expel  air  to  any  degree  of  inten- 
sity whatever,  without  injurious  effects. 


20  VOICE   AND   ACTION". 

To  make  speech  sonorous  and  metallic  in  its  charac- 
ter the  sides  must  be  practised  to  expand  well  with  the 
head  erect,  the  chest  forward  and  the  lungs  kept  filled. 
The  lungs  are  like  the  bellows  to  an  organ  ;  for  it  will 
not  emit  full,  musical  sounds  unless  the  bellows  freely 
supply  the  air. 

In  reading  even  in  a  sitting  posture  never  huddle 
up  or  bend  over,  but  sit  erect,  and  keep  otherwise  as 
near  as  possible  to  a  standing  posture. 

Whether  the  voice  is  used  as  by  a  reader  or  not, 
those  who  value  their  lungs  and  vocal  powers  should 
attend  particularly  to  the  ventilation  of  their  apart- 
ments, especially  those  in  which  they  sleep.  They 
should  never  sit  or  sleep  in  a  room  that  is  not  properly 
aired.  The  author,  even  in  mid  winter  has  his  windows 
low^ered  several  inches,  both  day  and  night,  or  in  some 
manner  a  door  ajar,  leaduig  to  another  apartment  or  to 
a  hall  way,  through  which  fresh  air  is  constantly  ad- 
mitted. 

The  vocal  organs  become  enervated  and  paralyzed 
for  want  of  action,  but  a  far  worse  fate  awaits  them 
if  deprived  oipure  ah\  for  then  they  become  diseased. 

When  actually  speaking  do  not  mistake  loudness 
^ov  intensity.  The  one  is  merely  voice  or  bellowing: 
the  other  is  the  meaning  deeply  imbued  with  the 
bright  hues  of  feeling. 

The  orator  may  gesticulate  with  the  desperation 
of  a  lunatic  and  shout  loud  enough  to  tear  the  welkin, 
but  this  is  monstrous;  all  that  is  needed  when  the 
voice  is  strong,  is  earnestness.  The  practice  of  the 
voice  is  one  thing ;  its  application,  very  nearly  another. 
(The  voice  must  be  practised  to  its  fullest  capability  to 
render  it  strong  and  flexible,  but  no  one  need  to  shout 
while  actually  speaking.  He  who  vociferates  at  any 
time  Without  judgment,  will  injure  the  vocal  organs; 


THE    SILENT   rEACTICE.  21 

he  who  smothers  the  voice  will  be  heard  with  difficulty. 
It  must  be  clear  and  penetrating  ;  every  stroke  of  the 
voice  should  be  perceived,  every  vibration  instantly 
apprehended. 

Pure,  firm,  decided  tones  are  formed  only  on  a  full, 
retentive  breath  and  by  a  quick  opening  of  the  mouth ; 
like  the  foot  promptly  lifted  as  in  marching  without 
shuffling.  Deep  tones  express  our  inmost  feelings ;  and 
it  is  by  a  perfect  control,  a  power  to  economize  the 
breath,  that  great  speakers  hold  audiences  in  breath- 
less expectation,  as  they  alarmingly  but  gradually 
increase  the  volume  and  deepen  the  tones  of  their 
voices,  and  then  delicately  diminish  the  power  to 
almost  a  mere  breathing  expression. 

When  the  student  has  at  last  learned  the  right  way 
he  will  gladly  leave  the  tones  of  conversation,  when  in 
public,  and  set  utterance  free  from  trammels,  and  urge 
it  forth  in  broad  emphatic  speaking,  the  only  style  that 
sways  and  carries  along  an  audience. 

THE    SILENT   PEACTICE. 

The  best  practice  is  in  the  open  air ;  the  next  in  a 
large  hall  or  well-ventilated  room.  But  if  a  person  is 
so  circumstanced  as  not  to  be  able  to  practise  aloud, 
without  greatly  annoying  people,  he  can  use  a  means, 
which  I  call  the  silent  practice,  by  which  the  voice 
can  be  even  skilfully  improved.  In  this  exercise  he  is 
to  sufficiently  intone  the  words  to  give  them  audibil- 
ity, and  by  intense  will  and  a  determined  inward 
mental  and  an  outward  physical  force,  seem  to  shout 
and  gesticulate  as  if  in  the  very  depths  of  the  forest 
or  on  the  wild  and  lonely  sea  shore.  It  requires,  how- 
ever, rigid  and  exacting  application  ;  and  thus  effects 
nearly  all  that  may  be  needed.     Practice  of  tiiis  kind 


22  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

cannot  be  heard  even  by  those  in  an  adjoining  room, 
but  great  skill  is  necessary  to  prevent  straining  even 
by  this  method.  The  exercise  must  be  gradually  and 
not  directly  powerful,  and  yet  be  earnest  enough  in  its 
character  to  produce  the  desired  results. 

To  equalize  and  divide  the  labor  with  the  voice,  it 
is  advisable  to  pace  the  room  in  a  seemingly  furious 
manner,  to  gesticulate  freely  and  lustily,  with  the  eyes 
full  of  fire  and  expression  ;  and  all  this,  even  though  the 
Tvhole  frame  be  excited  to  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  and 
animation,  can  be  done  without  the  least  disturbance 
to  others  in  the  immediate  vicinity. 

If  the  room  is  well  aired,  and  the  person  deeply 
inflates  the  lungs,  and  concentrates  his  mind  on  the 
purpose,  it  is  impossible  not  to  derive  immense  benefit. 

Personal  experience  with  pupils,  has  demonstrated 
that  a  radically  weak  voice  can  be  made  strong  by 
such  a  method.  Breathing  alone  would  do  much 
toward  the  attainment  of  the  end  proposed,  but  a  com- 
bination with  the  efibrts  of  the  body  tends  to  facilitate 
the  matter. 

This  apparently  extravagant  exercise  is  merely  for 
practice,  and  it  renders  all  the  speaking  powers  ex- 
tremely strong  and  pliant. 

In  private,  the  breath  may  be  violently  drawn  in 
and  as  violently  expelled,  but  in  public,  it  must  be 
imperceptibly  supplied.  The  same  with  action;  if 
either  is  obtruded  it  mars  the  expression.  The 
public  use  of  both  should  be  mainly  characterised  by 
simplicity  and  strength. 

EXPRESSION. 

When  the  voice  is  prepared  by  elementary  training, 
and  is  capable  of  fulfilling  all  demands,  then  public 


SIMPLICITY.  23 

speaking  should  be  earnest ;  not  merely  with  a  louder 
noise  and  more  vehement  gesture,  as  in  practice,  but 
with  reality  and  sensibility.  It  is  difficult  to  acquire 
the  habits  which  induce  that  native  feeling,  and  fresh- 
ness of  expression.  It  must  be  living,  soul-kindling. 
It  can  be  professedly  cultivated,  and  even  mechanically, 
but  with  the  sincerity  and  earnestness  of  a  man  bent 
on  great  effects ;  as  of  realities  which  he  understands 
and  feels  in  the  very  depths  of  his  soul.  This  is  the 
only  means  of  producing  what  the  age  demands — 
powerful,  earnest  orators,  and  not  graceful,  delicate 
declaimers. 

The  simplest  truths  when  communicated  powerfully 
come  to  us  warm  and  living  from  the  speaker's  soul. 
Sometimes  a  single  sentence  uttered  in  this  manner 
goes  deep  into  the  hearer's  heart  and  teaches  more  than 
could  be  gathered  in  hours  from  the  written  page. 
There  is  not  an  atom  to  spare  in  the  works  of  nature, 
and  its  greatest  structures  are  its  simplest.  Simplicity 
is  the  highest  and  the  most  enduring  of  all  qualities.  It 
is  the  mean  of  extremes  and  exactly  answers  to  its  end. 

The  orator  should  have  his  language  red-hot  with 
passion,  but  everything  like  effort  should  disappear ; 
and  even  the  most  exciting  expressions  should  be 
given  with  a  smooth,  severe  simplicity  that  is  delicate 
as  well  as  energetic. 

The  two  extremes  of  speaking,  between  which  is 
found  this  exact  simplicity,  are  rant  and  apathy.  The 
object  of  Elocution  is  to  explain  those  natural  prin- 
ciples already  created,  which  properly  control  expres- 
sion ;  to  develope  and  cultivate  voice  and  feeling  to 
the  extent  desired ;  and  to  refine,  not  pervert  nature ; 
and  the  greatest  orators  are  those  wiio  have  this  art 
subservient  to  native  powers.  Even  in  the  calmest 
and  most  subdued  expression  there  should  always  be 


24  VOICE    AND   ACTION". 

evinced  a  gi-eat  susceptibility  of  emotion  and  energy, 
or  it  will  assume  the  character  of  sluggishness.  In 
the  gentlest  mood,  however  light  the  feeling,  to  influ- 
ence and  move  others  we  must  ourselves  be  influenced 
and  moved.  In  every  shade  of  emotion  persons  should 
guard  watchfully  against  styles — the  bombastic,  the 
theatrical,  the  lofty — which  betray  themselves  by  the 
tones  of  the  voice  failing  to  penetrate  to  the  very 
bottom  of  the  soul,  and  w^hich  are  ready  instantly  to 
die  away  in  the  ear  of  the  auditor  which  derives  no 
internal  animation  from  the  effort. 

Cicero  says  he  requires  not  a  feigned  compassion, 
nor  incentives  to  sorrow,  but  that  which  is  real,  flow- 
ing from  the  sighs  of  a  wounded  heart.  He  also 
remarks  that  commiseration  ought  to  be  of  short  dura- 
tion, for  nothing  dries  up  sooner  than  a  tear. 

Even  in  pathos  and  emotions  of  pity  the  orator 
himself  must  not  weep,  but  control  his  feelings,  or  the 
delivery  is  degraded. 

The  poet  cannot  see  to  write  when  his  eyes  are 
filled  with  tears ;  he  must  rise  superior  to  his  grief 
before  he  can  sublimate  his  grief  in  song. 

The  artist  is  a  master,  not  a  slave ;  he  wields  his 
passion,  he  is  not  hurried  along  by  it.  He  possesses 
and  is  not  possessed.  Art  enshrines  the  great 
sadness  of  the  world,  but  is  itself  not  sad.  Hazlitt 
says,  that  whatever  is  genuine  in  art  must  proceed 
from  the  impulse  of  nature  and  individual  genius. 
The  ideal  is  not  the  preference  of  that  which  exists 
only  in  the  mind  to  that  which  is  fine  in  nature,  but  to 
that  which  is  less  so.  There  is  nothing  fine  in  art  but 
what  is  taken  almost  immediately,  and  as  it  were  in 
the  mass,  from  what  is  finer  in  nature.  Where  there 
have  been  the  finest  models  in  nature,  there  have  been 
the  finest  works  in  art.     In  the  study  of  this  art,  the 


VOICE    AND    FEELING.  25 

proper  object,  when  a  good  foundation  is  laid  in  the 
voice,  is  the  directness  of  one's  endeavor  to  acquire 
that  exacting  habit  which  is  able  to  exclude  all  that  is 
foreign  and  omit  nothing  in  expression  that  is  essential 
to  its  just  and  elegant  proportions. 

A  speaker  should  be  artless^  even  in  vehemence ; 
and  have  a  negligent  air  of  naturalness,  and  yet  be 
able  to  fill  even  plain  truths  w^ith  feeling.  In  the  most 
exciting  expressions  the  words  must  not  be  given  so 
rapidly  as  to  prevent  the  proper  emphasis  and  thor- 
ough intonation  of  each  syllable.  Precipitation  kills 
the  meaning. 

Sensibility  will  move  even  ordinary  men  to  speak 
well  at  times ;  it  is  this  which  prompts  the  words  that 
burn,  but  it  must  be  genuine.  It  must  be  delicate,  not 
tampered  with  ;  it  cannot  be  forced.  It  must  be  an 
urgent  thirsting  for  truth,  a  tortured  mental  strug- 
gling within  for  otitvKird  vocal  life. 

The  voice  can  be  cultivated  to  work  out  the  feel- 
ings which  are  already  in  the  soul  ready  to  be  sum- 
moned into  action.  It  can  breathe  them  out  with 
a  glow  of  animation  and  purpose  that  eventually 
assumes  a  character  of  reality.  A  few  words  show 
the  presence  of  the  orator;  as  with  a  painter  the 
roughest  sketch  betrays  the  hand  of  the  master.  The 
most  eloquent  manner  of  speaking  is  the  most  easily 
acquired,  for  it  is  as  simple  as  it  is  natural.  Many 
overreach  and  work  themselves  up  by  extraordinary 
instead  of  gentle  means  beyond  the  fervid  and  simple 
style  to  a  bombastic  and  frigid  declamation. 

The  aim  should  be  the  repose,  not  absence  of  exr 
pression.  Taste  will  refine  a  sufficiently  cultivated 
voice;  and  sincerity,  vigor,  and  ]3ower  can  never  be 
harmonized  until  softened  by  taste. 

When  expression  is  the  result  of  mere  feeling,  truth 
2 


26  YOICE   AND   ACTION. 

is  sacrificed  for  its  appearance ;  show  is  mistaken  for 
substance  ;  and  the  result  is  violent,  bizarre,  capricious. 

There  is  also  great  danger  of  overdoing  the  tech- 
'nieal  principles,  and  mere  imitation  is  imbecility. 
Here  imitation  is  used  as  the  end  instead  of  the  cor- 
rective, the  improvement  and  bringing  out  of  natural 
powers. 

To  imitate,  for  something  beyond  the  principles, 
will  exalt  not  degrade  originality. 

When  a  papil  has  once  laid  hold  of  a  principle  he 
will  see  where  his  teacher  deviates,  and  even  be  able  to 
correct  him.  Principles  will  guide  also  in  the  study 
of  deformities  for  the  very  purpose  of  avoiding  them. 

The  rules  of  criticism  are  not  arbitrary.  In  the 
mind  there  is  an  innate  power  which  only  requires 
development  to  appreciate  the  true,  and  separate  it 
from  the  false. 

Wayward  prejudices  may  for  a  time  esteem  even 
deformities  as  excellencies,  and  even  take  delight  in 
distortion.  Eye  and  ear  may  become  the  slave  of 
habit  and  receive  most  pleasure  from  the  peculiarities 
to  which  they  have  been  accustomed. 

Public  speakers  of  all  kinds,  especially  lawyers  and 
clergymen,  from  the  fact  of  their  occupying  high  intel- 
lectual positions,  have  a  great  controlling  influence 
over  younger  aspirants  in  the  same  directions. 

Many  speakers  have  faults  peculiar  to  themselves, 
and  they  become,  by  their  examples,  the  instructors 
of  herds  of  worthless  imitators.  The  youthful  De- 
mosthenes is  told  to  watch  the  best  (?)  speakers ; 
he  copies  alike  both  good  and  bad  habits  and  the 
result  is  merely  a  confirmed  imitation  ;  the  bad  habits 
of  course  display  themselves  to  a  very  disagreeable 
extent,  as  the  idiosyncracies  of  the  former  do  not  sit 
well  on  the  latter. 


*  DISCIPLINE.  27 

The  only  sure  means  is  by  a  study  of  the  principles^ 
referring  constantly  to  nature  lor  their  application^ 
Nature  is  varied,  refined,  and  subtle  beyond  retention, 
therefore  refer  to  her  continually ;  recur  to  her  at 
every  step  and  in  this  way  daily  renew  strength.  The 
principles  of  art  endue  nature  with  an  air  of  intellect 
and  sentiment. 

If  we  are  not  natural  we  are  repulsive.  Affectation 
will  be  detected.  Sometimes  we  put  on  airs  when 
striving  to  be  natural ;  this  is  absurd,  for  we  ought 
ratlier  to  ascertain  faults  with  a  determination  to 
remove  them. 

If  the  speaker  feels  the  sentiment,  even  a  bad  voice 
will  show  it  in  every  degree,  for  it  7ieve7'  plays /a/se, 
and  there  is  no  substitute  for  reality.  We  can  seem  to 
be  real  till  living  reality  comes,  and  is  gracefully  natu- 
ral. Discipline  will  effect  this,  and  will  awaken  dormant 
energies  to  an  extent  little  suspected  by  most  people. 

Success  depends  upon  filling  the  soul  with  the 
mighty  purpose  of  excelling  ;  of  shrinking  from  no  labor 
that  is  essential  to  the  purpose,  and  keeping  constantly 
in  view  the  reality  and  simplicity  of  nature.  There 
should  be  a  right-onwardness  in  expression  ;  a  rushing 
to  the  end,  which  keeps  the  mind  awake  and  on  the 
alert. 

There  should  be  a  freedom  from  superflousness  of 
feeling,  and  a  point  or  focus  to  which  all  should  tend  ; 
everything  foreign  to  this  is  ruinous,  yet  it  should  have 
all  that  is  necessary  to  completeness. 

Anxious,  critical  study,  however,  is  apt,  unless 
properly  directed,  to  interfere  with  nature ;  for  we 
study  principles  merely  as  such,  and  apply  them  to 
words  merely  as  words,  instead  of  cultivating  the  voice 
to  bring  out  the  meaning  and  feeling  from  those  other- 
wise silent  symbols. 


28  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

The  voice,  from  improper  application,  is  apt  to  be 
loud^  instead  of  intense^  dignified^  and  Gonversationcd 
in  tone.  This  makes  a  speaker  unnatural,  no  matter 
how  natural  his  common  utterance,  and  ho  displays 
himmlf  like  an  actor  ;  for  there  are  so  few  good  actors 
that  it  is  generally  conceded  that  in  the  mass  they  do 
display  themselves  to  the  entire  neglect  of  the  charac- 
ters they  vainly  strive  to  sustain. 

The  ancients  represented  exlstencies^  we  the  effects  ; 
they  portrayed  the  terrible^  we  terribly.  Hence  our 
exaggeration,  mannerism,  false  grace,  and  excess.  For 
when  we  strive  after  effect  we  never  think  we  can  be 
effective  enough. 

Feeling  cannot  be  expressed  by  words  alone,  or 
even  by  tones  of  voice  ;  but  by  the  flash  on  the  cheek, 
the  look  of  the  eye,  the  contracted  brow,  the  com- 
pressed lip,  the  heaving  breast,  trembling  frame,  rigid 
muscle,  the  general  bearing  of  the  whole  body. 

A  slight  movement  of  the  head,  a  turn  of  the  hand, 
a  judicious  pause  or  interruption  of  gesture,  or  change 
of  position  of  the  feet,  often  illuminates  the  meaning  of 
a  passage  and  sends  it  glowing  into  the  understand- 
ing ;  and  yet,  there  are  times  when  even  the  wonders 
of  the  eye  will  lose  much  of  their  charm,  if  not  sup- 
ported by  the  still  more  imposing  organ  of  the  voice. 

We  are  told  by  an  author  that  it  made  the  blood 
run  cold  and  the  hair  to  almost  stand  on  end  to  hear 
Edward  Irving  read  the  1 3 7 th  Psalm,  in  the  old  Scotch 
version,  (see  Contents,)  and  it  was  the  richest  treat  to 
bear  him  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

Mr.  Windham,  after  hearing  Pitt,  walked  home  lost 
in  amazement  at  the  compass  of  human  eloquence. 
But  even  Pitt  writhed  under  the  eloquence  of  Sheridan. 
On  one  occasion  the  House  was  adjourned,  so  as  not  to 
decide  a  question  under  the  influence  of  such  powerfid 
eloquence. 


READING.  29 

Discipline  must  be  preparatory  and  private ;  must 
consist  in  practice  of  action,  in  loud  reading  and  speak- 
ing, till  all  the  excellencies  of  a  good  elocution  become 
part  of  one's  nature,  (^or  will  it  be  as  long  as  we 
may  have  supposed,  before  we  begin  to  experience 
these  results.)  Then  we  shall,  as  though  they  were 
gifts  of  nature,  carry  them  into  general  use.  Our  pri- 
vate training  will  bring  the  graces  imperceptibly  into 
our  public  action,  and  all  our  defects  will  be  gradually 
supplanted  by  them.  Thus  may  we  learn  to  speak  by 
principles,  yet  we  never  need  be  embarrassed  by  them. 

With  a  competent  teacher,  the  learner  fnay  aim 
directly  at  great  excellence.  Avoid  bad  habits  and 
awkward  restraints  ;  thus,  indirectly,  the  beauties  and 
graces  VsAW  ensue. 

When,  at  last,  through  severe  labor,  and  patient, 
assiduous  toil,  the  powers  are  capable  of  exemplifying 
the  sublime  in  oratory,  the  mind  is  so  overpowered  and 
taken  such  possession  of  that  no  room  is  left  for  minute 
details  ;  and  the  more  intense  the  man's  intellectual  and 
emotional  life  becomes  at  the  same  time,  the  more  he 
demands  those  effects  which  call  forth  such  harmonious 
energizing  of  the  soul,  and  constitute  the  highest  luxury 
of  expression. 

Reading. — The  only  difference  between  Reading 
and  Speaking  is  in  the  degrees  of  force  by  which  the 
principles  are  applied.  Reading  is  necessarily  more 
restrained  than  Speaking,  but  it  is  advisable  to  culti- 
vate acute  susceptibility  in  both. 

Reading  should  have  a  dramatic  character,  which  is 
not  of  necessity  stage-like.  Animated,  earnest,  expres- 
sive reading  is  not  theatrical.  It  is  like  the  conversa- 
tion of  an  earnest  person  thinking  to  himself  aloud  / 
and  if  one  far-fetched,  over-done  expression  is  given  the 
charm  is  gone. 


30  VOICE    AND   ACTIOX. 

It  will  be  far  rcmovecl  from  artificial  or  reading 
tones,  and,  though  natural,  will  be  superior  to  the 
familiar  tones  of  conversation. 

Dr.  Rush  says,  that  to  read  as  we  talk — that  is, 
naturally  and  with  expression — is  an  excellent  rule  ; 
but  if  our  natural  manner  or  accent  be  faulty,  we  should 
endeavor  to  correct  rather  than  imitate  it. 

In  this  art  a  vulgar  ear  may  perceive  defects  in  the 
finest  examples,  but  it  takes  a  high  degree  of  culture 
to  really  appreciate  excellencies. 

We  should  read  slowly  and  distinctly,  with  the 
same  pains  that  we  take  in  talking ;  so  that  if  another 
were  listening  he  would  think  we  were  talking  instead 
of  reading.  In  public  we  simply  increase  the  power  of 
this  same  manner.  Reading  is  merely  speaking  what  one 
sees  in  a  book,  just  as  he  would  express  his  own  ideas 
as  they  flow  in  conversation  ;  and  no  one  reads  well 
until  he  does  it  in  this  natural  way.  Children  read  like 
parrots,  for  they  never  understand  what  they  read  ; 
they  merely  pronounce  the  words. 

Pay  no  attention  to  the  voice  in  public,  but  dwell 
intently  on  the  sense,  trusting  all  the  rest  to  nature  and 
prior  practice  for  tones,  emphasis,  and  inflections. 

He  who  understands  and  fully  feels,  who  earnestly 
occupies  his  mind  with  the  matter,  and  is  exclusively 
absorbed  with  that  feeling,  will  be  likely  to  communi- 
cate the  same  impression  to  his  hearers.  But  this  can- 
not be  the  case  if  he  is  occupied  with  the  thought  of 
what  their  opinion  will  be  of  his  reading,  and  how  his 
voice  ought  to  be  regulated  ;  if,  in  short,  he  is  thinking 
of  himself,  and  of  course  thus  detracts  his  attention  from 
that  by  which  it  should  be  altogether  occupied. 

In  reading  the  Scriptures,  or  similar  composition, 
we  should  use  great  judgment.  The  sentiments  in  such 
are  not  intended  to  appear  as  our  own.     In  such  ex- 


VOCAL   IJNITY.  31 

ceptions  pay  close  attention  to  the  meaning,  and  leave 
the  utterance  to  nature. 

As  yourea3  reason  out  the  language  particular  by 
particular,  and  yet  do  not  give  a  feeble  catalogue  of 
terms,  for  that  weakens  the  force.  Do  not  be  too  pre- 
cise^ and  yet  have  everything  accurate. 

The  sense  should  be  studied  thoroughly,  by  atten- 
tion to  the  various  positions  of  the  verbs  and  their 
nominatives,  especially :  then  to  the  conjunctions,  rela- 
tive pronouns,  adverbs,  and  prepositions,  as  being  the 
next  most  important  parts  of  speech. 

By  these  particulars  learji  to  grasp  each  period,  and 
from  them  pass  to  paragraphs,  until  you  can  master  the 
comprehensive  v/hole  of  all  the  matter  before  you,  and 
thus  give  the  ruling  passion  or  prevailing  sentiment. 
By  this  method  the  mind  can  be  assisted  in  holding 
the  periods  together,  as  the  particulars  are  understood, 
by  the  tones  of  voice,  gestures,  looks  of  the  eye,  and  a 
gentle  swaying  of  the  body.  After  the  periods  are 
formed,  it  is  a  very  simple  operation  to  unite  them  into 
paragraphs,  and  finally,  by  a  similar  but  less  intricate 
process,  to  combine  them  all  together  in  one  perfect 
whole.  All  can  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words.  At  the 
outset,  a  person  has  so  much  to  read  ;  and  he  must  pre- 
sent each  part  as  belonging  intimately  to  what  may 
have  gone  before  and  what  is  to  follow.  The  smoother 
and  less  fragmentary  and  disjointed  the  effort  appears, 
the  more  agreeable  will  it  be  to  both  hearer  and  reader. 
It  differs  very  essentially  from  the  ''''pumping  pro- 
cess." 

Each  part  of  a  statue  is  carefully  and  accurately 
wrought  out  as  belonging  to  a  whole.  In  its  appear- 
ance as  a  figure  we  see  a  perfect  unity,  and  yet  each 
detail  will  bear  the  closest  scrutiny.  In  a  painting  we 
observe  the  same  effects  ;  all  the  parts  form  the  pic- 


32  VOICE  a:s^d  action^. 

ture.  Disjoint  the  one,  or  rend  the  other,  and  we  have 
only  the  fragments  and  the  pieces. 

So  it  is  with  reading ;  each  word,  was  written  with 
a  view  to  some  other  word,  each  period  to  another 
period,  and  yet  everything  with  an  idea  to  a  whole, 
and  as  such  should  all  be  read. 

Every  part  of  the  subject,  to  its  minutest  detail, 
should  be  given,  and  the  unity  of  the  whole  be  pre- 
served unbroken.  If  a  man  has  no  enthusiasm,  how- 
ever, all  will  avail  him  nothing,  for  rules  will  be  only 
rxdes  to  him,  and  he  will  display  the  words  obtrusively, 
coldly,  and  unfeelingly. 

When  terrible  or  lofty  feelings  are  pent  up  in  the 
soul,  then  is  a  proper  time  to  look  within  and  carefully 
study  those  emotions — to  be  auditor,  as  it  were,  to  them, 
to  yourself. 

Habits  of  this  kind  will  enable  you,  when  you  un- 
derstand thoroughly  the  meaning,  to  commune  with 
and  study  the  appropriate  expression. 

Poetry  should  be  read  very  nearly  like  prose  ;  and 
whatever  pauses  are  made  as  to  the  melody  alone, 
especially  at  the  end  of  every  line,  should  be  of  the  sus- 
pensive kind  denoting  a  continuation  of  the  sense ;  this 
prevents  that  abominable  sing-song  style  so  common 
among  cultivated  persons,  but  not  correct  readers. 

The  reader  should  not  dwell  on  the  rhymes,  but 
read  them  smoothly,  aiming  at  the  sense,  and  preserv- 
ing just  enough  of  the  melody  to  distinguish  the  po- 
etry from  prose.  Great  skill  and  freqaent  practice  are 
required  to  enable  a  person  to  read  blank  verse  correct- 

PERSO:^rATION. 

Dialogues  are  excellent  for  practice,  as.  in  reading 
them,  the  voice  must  frequently  be  changed  in  its  tones 


PEESO]S"ATIOX.  33 

to  represent  the  different  persons  ;  and  furthermore,  the 
reading  of  them  very  nearly  resembles  ordinary  con- 
versation, or  natural  expression,  and  thus  an  interest  is 
awakened. 

In  this  style  of  reading,  in  public,  as  a  general  rule, 
the  face  must  be  turned  a  little  aside,  presenting  to  the 
audience  onl}^^  about  a  three-quarter's  view,  while  the 
chest  is  kept  directly  to  the  front. 

Each  time  a  change  of  character  occurs,  the  reader 
must  so  change  his  voice,  his  position,  and  direction  of 
face,  as  to  keep  before  the  hearer  a  distinct  picture  of 
the  entire  group. 

The  face  must  be  alternated  according  to  circum- 
stances, so  as  to  show  its  right  or  left  side  to  the  audi- 
ence ;  and  also  regulated  as  to  the  distance  it  shall 
turn. 

The  face  must  not  front  the  audience,  nor  be  turned 
at  exactly  right  angles  from  them,  but  have  a  direction 
between  these  extremes,  in  a  general  relationship  with 
the  characters  repi-esented. 

But,  above  everything  else,  see  that  the  chest  has  a 
full  front  to  the  auditors  ;  never  turn  the  side  to  them 
if  it  can  be  helped,  and  what  is  far  worse,  the  bac/c.  The 
audience  wish  to  see  the  face  and  chest,  not  the  side  and 
back  of  the  reader. 

It  is  a  difiicult  study  to  represent  truthfully  various 
men  and  women,  both  old  and  young.  The  author 
would  recommend,  as  a  practice,  first  to  analyze  each 
character  by  itself,  as  regards  the  tones  of  the 
voice,  or  the  peculiarities  of  expression  that  may  be- 
long to  the  person  represented.  In  the  meantime,  the 
last  lines  of  each  character  that  directly  precedes  it  can 
be  giver,  if  desired,  to  assist  the  appearance  of  con- 
versation with  another. 

In  the  recitation  of  poetry  combining  description 
2* 


3i  VOICE   AND    ACTION-. 

and  colloquy,  the  descriptive  parts,  even  to  the  minutest 
details,  should  be  given  directly  to  the  audience. 

Each  word  of  either  character  is  given  as  in  dia- 
logue, with  the  face  partly  turned  from  the  audience, 
as  though  no  one  but  yourself  and  the  seeming  charac- 
ters were  present,  and  yet  with  the  full  impression  that 
they  hear  and  thoroughly  understand  the  sentiments, 
as  if  delivered  directly  to  them. 

The  following  will  illustrate  this  style: — 

Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 

And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

And — ••  This  to  me,"  he  said  ; 

"  An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 

Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head." 
All  except  what  Marmion  is  made  to  utter  should 
be  delivered  directly  to  the  audience  ;  but  the  instant 
he  is  represented  as  speaking,  the  voice  should  change, 
and  the  head  turn  to  an  angle  from  the  hearers, 
to  represent  him  as  talking  to  Douglas  ;  but  the  words 
"  he  said,"  should  be  given  with  the  face  to  the  front 
again,  and  immediately^  in  continuing  the  colloquy,  the 
angle  should  be  resumed  as  before. 

When  two  or  more  persons  read  or  speak  in  dialogue 
they  should  feel  the  sentiments,  listen  to  the  language, 
and  look  at  each  other,  as  in  earnest  conversation.  Each 
speaker  should  be  interested  in  all  that  is  said.  This 
gives  it  an  air  of  reality,  and  brings  out  the  full  mean- 
ing. 

Shakspeare  furnishes  the  best  examples  for  practice 
in  pure  dialogue;  Milton  (Paradise  Lost)  for  lofty  de- 
scription and  colloquy  combined. 

The  practice  of  humorous  description,  and  also  amus- 
ing dialogue  are  by  no  means  to  be  neglected,  as  their 
exercise  is  still  more  naturalizing  in  its  effects,  if  not 
degraded  into  buffoonery,  than  any  other  means. 


THE    COMIC    STYLE.  35 

The  practice  of  the  lighter  kinds  of  expression,  em- 
bracing wit,  especially  in  the  form  of  satire  and  irony, 
gives  one  a  greater  ease  and  confidence  in  the  grander 
flights  of  fancy  and  imagination,  as  it  takes  away  the 
tendency  to  rigidity  and  mock  solemnity,  so  likely  to 
be  induced  by  reading  the  sober  and  dignified  styles  of 
language. 

Garrick,  the  great  tragedian,  was  admirable  in 
comedy,  and  even  in  farce.  Daniel  Webster,  with  all 
his  profundity,  Henry  Clay,  with  all  his  skill,  were  both 
remarkable  for  their  wonderful  powers  of  mimicry,  and 
either  could  "  set  the  table  in  a  roar." 

Shakspeare  excelled  in  writing  comedy  as  well  as 
tragedy  ;  he  courted  the  comic  as  well  as  the  tragic 
muse  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  highest  tragedy  he  gives 
us  the  lowest  comedy. 

He  puts  the  crazed  King  Lear  and  the  Fool  out  in 
the  same  terrible  storm  ;  and  in  Hamlet  he  gives  us  the 
unhappy  Prince  and  the  witty  grave-diggers,  even 
amidst  the  solemnities  of  burial,  in  jocular  repartee. 

Our  best  and  most  successful  orators  are  those  who 
are  witty  as  well  as  wise.  Their  finest  arguments  are 
set  ofl:*  with  illustrations  of  the  most  diverting  and 
amusing  character. 

The  young  are  too  frequently  discouraged  in  their 
attempts  at  wit,  or  in  the  recitation  of  humorous  selec- 
tions, from  the  fear  of  contracting  light  and  frivolous 
habits.     But  this  is  wrong  and  highly  injudicious. 

To  be  a  weU-hsdauced^  not  a  one-sided  orator,  a 
person  should  have  an  unerring  command  over  expres- 
sions of  both  wit  and  gravity.  Dry-as-dust  oratory  is 
not  for  the  present  age. 


36  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 


ACTION. 


Action  is  infinitely  various,  and  requires  to  be  well 
set  off  by  great  propriety  of  motion,  by  study  and 
minuteness  in  the  disposition  of  the  body.  Awkward 
attitudes  and  gestures  detract  the  mind  from  the  mat- 
ter to  the  manner. 

As  it  is  in  reading  with  expression,  so  the  basis  of 
real  effective  action  is  rea/ feeling.  So  important  is  this 
that  it  will  compensate  defects  ;  but  there  is  no  incon- 
gruity between  feeling  and  the  highest  grace  in  action. 
When  the  feelings  are  truly  enlisted  these  graces  will 
increase  their  power,  for  they  will  come  spontaneously 
from  previous  practice. 

Even  in  pausing,  the  speaker  should  retain  the 
expression,  attitude  and  action,  for  they  fill  the  chasm 
as  though  more  w^ere  coming.  By  suspending  the 
voice  and  changing  to  silence,  the  attention  is  arrested, 
and  it  seems  as  though  nature  were  dictating;  as 
though  the  speaker  were  reflecting.  Cicero  says,  that 
the  boat  moves  on  from  its  momentum  after  the  row- 
ers have  ceased  their  efforts. 

In  highly  dramatic  styles  of  language,  attitudes  are 
ravishing  when  graceful,  appropriate,  and  occasional ; 
but  disgusting  when  crowded  and  awkward. 

It  is  highly  improper  to  get  ready  to  start,  in  a 
passion.  In  nature  sudden  terror  has  no  action  of  its 
own,  but  rivets  us  to  the  posture  we  are  in ;  or  at  most 
averts  the  head  from,  or  projects  the  arm  against  the 
object. 

There  should  be  no  anticipation  of  sprawling,  jerk- 
ing, or  distortion.  In  reading  Shakspeare's  Hamlet, 
for  example,  it  is  outrageous  to  make  preparation  to 
boldly  stare  the  ghost  in  the  face.     It  would  be  far 


GESTUEE.  37 

better  for  the  reader  to  forget  for  a  moment  his  own 
power  a  little,  and  think  of  the  shadow. 

The  graces  of  gesture  and  action  are  simplicity, 
smoothness,  and  variety.  They  consist  in  changing 
from  one  position  to  another  in  the  free,  untrammeled 
movements  of  the  ductile  limbs,  added  to  general  sym- 
metry and  harmony ;  but  before  variety  of  grace  can  be 
obtained  there  must  be  flexibility. 

The  most  awkward  person  may  give  expression,  but 
rigidity  of  muscle  and  stiffness  of  body  destroy  grace- 
ful action. 

The  habits  of  students  are  especially  awkward  and 
ungraceful,  from  their  physically  inactive  life  which  is 
continually  cramping  and  restraining  nature.  They 
daily  weaken  vocal  and  muscular  power  and  lose  con- 
fidence in  themselves  as  speakers.  There  should  be 
no  restriction  on  the  mind  such  as  uncertainty,  bash- 
fulness,  and  timidity. 

The  head  should  slightly  imitate  the  hands  in  e'cery 
motion.  The  speaker  should  not  stand  too  erect,  but 
gently  wind  his  body  in  graceful  keeping  with  the  sen- 
timents, using  great  judgment.  The  lower  limbs  should 
change  with  the  ideas,  but  great  caution  must  be  ob- 
served, especially  in  dignified  discourse. 

Imitative  gesture  should  be  limited  to  the  light 
styles  of  expi-ession  and  never  used  in  serious  delivery. 

When  a  man  clenches  one  fist  the  other  does  not  lie 
in  a  quiescent  condition.  While  the  face  is  stern  and 
vindictive,  there  is  energy  in  the  whole  frame;  when  a 
man  rises  from  his  seat  in  impassioned  feeling,  there  is  a 
certain  tension  and  straining  in  every  limb  and  feature. 

If  one  of  those  parts  were  active  while  the  others 
were  in  repose,  he  would  present  a  cramped  and  spasm- 
like appearance. 

The  character  must  be  uniform  or  there  will  be  no 


38  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

truth  in  the  expression.     Even  in  the  most  animated 
language  some  persons  are  like  statues. 

There  should  be  nothing  yiolent,  no  contortions,  no 
forced  attitudes  for  effect,  but  we  should  do  just  as  we 
would  even  in  tJie  most  exciting  situations.  Exagger- 
ation of  physical  action  is  often  mistakenly  given  for 
the  quiet  of  deep  mental  emotion. 

By  long  practice  we  acquire  the  power  to  appear 
perfectly  natural^  easy,  and  unlabored,  without  rule  or 
apparent  effort.  Different  styles  of  language  require 
different  styles  of  gesture.  Tragedy,  epic  poetry,  lyric 
odes  and  sublime  description  require  bold,  magnificent, 
graceful,  and  varied  action  in  their  highest  cultivation. 
Orations,  generally  speaking,  especially  those  abound- 
ing with  plain  arguments,  need  merely  energetic,  sim- 
ple and  slightly  varied  movements. 

The  gestures  of  the  public  speaker  must  be  few 
and  vary  according  to  circumstances  of  situation, 
audience,  and  language,  but  they  must  be  decided 
rather  than  merely  graceful ;  earnest  and  manly,  not 
delicate  and  effeminate. 

The  speaker  should  be  cautious  of  adding  the 
slightest  trait  to  the  simple  but  grand  character  of 
natural  action,  for  instead  of  making  the  appeal 
stronger  it  is  sure  to  weaken  it.  Each  gesture  should 
have  a  sufficient  reason  for  its  being  used.  Vigor  is 
given  by  excitement  of  the  breast,  lips,  and  nostrils; 
while  the  posture  and  the  look  of  the  eye  add  direction 
and  meaning. 

By  a  ^ust  energizing  of  the  functions  we  can  work 
out  all  the  capability  of  expression  in  the  words  as 
they  severally  make  up  the  sense.  We  must  never 
drop  a  gesture  until  the  period  has  closed ;  but  vary 
the  movement  in  a  suspensive  manner  as  we  continue 
until  the  voice  falls  at  a  cadence  in  the  language. 


GESTURE.  39 

The  speaker  must  not  alternate  his  gestures,  by- 
using  one  hand  and  then  the  other,  in  the  same  period 
of  language.  . 

In  speaking  of  lake  and  river,  of  hill  and  valley,  of 
the  east  and  the  west,  use  but  one  hand,  in  indicating 
the  direction  of  each  feature ;  or,  what  may  sometimes 
be  still  better,  in  denoting  extreme  distance,  bring  up 
one  hand  to  mark  the  first  object  or  direction,  and  sus- 
pend it  while  the  other  is  also  raised  to  denote  the 
opposite  idea,  and  keep  both  hands  out  until  the  sense 
is  concluded.  In  noting  several  consecutive  objects, 
the  one  hand  or  both  should  be  used  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  in  representing  opposites.  Sometimes  the  eye 
follows  the  gesture  for  a  very  short  time,  but  never 
continuously.  We  should  closely  watch  children  be- 
fore they  become  cramped  and  enervated  by  artificial 
habits.  We  should  patiently,  carefully  observe  statues 
and  paintings  from  the  best  masters.  We  should  not 
seem  to  have  studied  gestures,  but  conceal  the  art  so  as 
not  to  present  the  least  appearance  of  design. 

The  bold  flight  of  the  hawk  and  the  eagle  might  be 
given  as  illustrations  of  bold,  free,  and  sweeping 
gestures. 

In  private,  lay  about  lustily,  to  acquire  the  bold, 
sweeping,  graceful  style ;  in  public,  use  gesture  spar- 
ingly, but  when  used  make  it  effective.  The  speaker 
should  learn  to  stand  still ;  to  move  to  the  word ;  to 
know  how  and  when  to  move.  Sometimes  he  must 
change  insta,ntly ;  at  other  times  modulate  through  the 
language. 

If  the  ideas  are  numerous,  but  similar,  the  gestures 
and  actions  should  be  few  and  similar;  if  dissimilar, 
then  the  actions  should  be  varied.  The  practice  of 
gesture  and  action  may  be  cultivated  to  the  highest 
state.     Every  part   of  the  body  and   limbs  must  be 


40  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

carefully  and  patiently  exercised;    even  the  neck  can 
he  used  effectively  in  some  situations ;  great  flexibility 
of  the   fingers   is   positively   needed   in  elegant    and     ' 
refined   expression,  and   the  eye  can  add  wonders  if 
properly  used. 

THE   PASSIONS. 

The  passions  are  the  impelling  forces  of  life ;  and 
without  these,  a  man  is  as  useless  in  the  world  as  if  he 
were  without  brains.  He  cannot  be  good,  he  is  only 
innocent.  God  gave  us  passions  for  a  full,  natural, 
symmetrical  development;  and  the  grandest  type  is  one 
with  these  thorougly  trained.  Eloquence  is  a  complete 
paradox ;  one  must  have  the  power  of  strong  feeling, 
or  he  can  never  command  the  sympathy  of  a  varied, 
crowded  auditory  ;  but  one  must  control  his  own  sen- 
sations, for  their  indulgence  would  enfeeble  execution. 
One  must  practise  effects  beforehand  in  his  own  mind. 

The  actor  never  improvises  a  burst  of  passion ; 
everything  is  the  result  of  pre-arrangement  and  fore- 
thought. The  instantaneous  agony,  the  joy  that 
gushes  forth  involuntarily,  the  tone  of  the  voice,  the 
gesture,  the  look,  all  which  pass  for  sudden  inspiration, 
have  been  rehearsed  again  and  again. 

He  who  expects  to  excel  must  study  from  himself, 
and  compare  his  own  proved  sensations  under  grief, 
happiness,  anger,  pain  and  all  ordinary  variations  of 
human  events  and  feelings,  with  the  emotions  he  rep- 
resents. His  skill  lies  in  the  excellence  of  the  imitative 
reality ;  for  he  is  not  nature,  but  art  producing  nature. 

But  whatever  the  sublimity,  the  terror  or  beauty, 
the  necessary  vigor  of  the  action  to  convey  the  passion, 
we  must  not  forget  that  there  is  a  limit  to  all  human 
expression,  beyond  which  is  distortion  and  grimace. 


NATURAL   LAWS.  41 

4 

Men  are  subject  to  the  laws  of  nature,  and  the 
most  frenzied  fancy  is  compelled  to  abide  by  them. 

To  counteract  exaggerative  effects,  we  should  pay 
attention  to  living,  breathing  models ;  we  should  take 
every  opportunity  in  the  streets  and  in  the  social  circle, 
to  argue  with  persons  and  watch  them.  We  should  learn 
expression,  by  observing  men  and  children — anxious, 
active,  eager  to  talk ;  we  should  especially  notice  the 
terror  and  anguish  of  persons  in  scenes  of  danger  and 
trouble ;  see  their  faces,  hear  their  voices,  particularly 
when  their  movements  are  unconscious.  We  should 
also  turn  to  the  calmer  scenes  of  life  and  study  the 
nobler  but  subdued  passions,  so  greatly  touching ;  the 
repressed  softness  of  strong,  great  souls.  Both  should 
be  well  understood. 

In  the  thorough  acquirement  of  these  extremes 
great  skill  is  necessary,  for  every  excellence  borders 
on  some  deformity;  the  simple  upon  the  cold  and 
inanimate,  the  bold  and  expressive  upon  the  blustering 
and  overcharged,  the  graceful  upon  the  precise  and 
aflfected ;  the  one  becomes,  the  other  distorts  expres- 
sion. 

The  greatest  effects  can  be  produced  naturally  by 
rules,  yet  as  if  unconsciously. 

Nature  will  show  you  nothing  if  you  set  yourself 
up  as  her  master.  You  must  forget  self  and  try  to 
obey  her ;  you  will  thus  find  obedience  easier  than  you 
think. 

Instead  of  servilely  copying  the  style  of  another, 
imitate  conceptions;  do  not  tread  in  footsteps,  but 
keep  the  same  road ;  labor  on  principles  to  get  the  spirit. 

Study  not  only  the  effect  of  the  passions  upon  others 
but  also  the  effect  upon  your  own  face,  that  you  may 
distinguish  the  difference  between  an  alteration  of  the 
features    expressing    the   feelings,  and  the  grimaces 


42  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

that  attend  a  play  of  the  muscles.  Errors  will  continu- 
ally offend  not  only  the  informed,  but  even  the  unculti- 
vated, although  they  cannot  tell  the  reason. 

Want  of  simplicity  is  destructive  of  dignity. 
There  is  a  pure,  chaste  modesty,  as  it  may  be  called,  in 
opposition  to  a  bold,  impudent,  glaring.color  of  passion ; 
but  some  think  they  cannot  have  enough  of  this  violent 
contrast. 

There  is  frequently  more  eloquence  in  a  look  than 
it  is  possible  for  any  one  to  express  in  words.  We  are 
charmed,  awed,  incensed,  softened,  grieved,  rejoiced, 
raised,  or  dejected  according  as  we  catch  the  fire  of  the 
speaker's  passion  from  his  face.  The  look  muscularly 
stamped  on  the  face  makes  the  same  impression  on  the 
body. 

When  a  passion  is  lengthy  in  expression,  stop  and 
decrease  the  power;  then  burst  again  to  shade  the 
emphatic  parts. 

Highly  intensive  states  of  mind,  such  as  alarm, 
terror,  anger,  and  similar  conditions,  suppress  the  force 
of  utterance  ;  feeling  gets  control,  and  the  whole  soul, 
mind  and  heart  are  to  be  thrown  into  a  few  words. 

Perturbation,  confusion,  perplexity,  and  like  states 
of  excitement  have  an  aspirated,  explosive  energy; 
not  pure  quality  or  vocality. 

In  terrible  paroxysm  the  soul  quivers  in  majestic 
nakedness.  In  frenzy  the  tones  of  voice  are  dignified 
but  terrible ;  although  just  before  it  the  person  is  some- 
times quiet. 

In  great  excitement  and  intense  feeling,  the  eye  has 
a  wild,  frantic,  savage,  leopard-like  glare.  But  the 
most  awful  idea  of  agony  is  a  forcible  burst  of  passion 
and  then  a  sinking  into  the  utmost  softness. 

By  a  strong  effort  the  outward  tokens  of  passionate 
grief  must  be  restrained,  for  men  will  not  have  its 


imitati:n^g  the  passions.  43 

violence  obtruded  upon  them.  To  preserve  the  dig- 
nity of  his  "  character "  the  true  actor  permits  those 
uncontrollable  signs  of  suffering,  alone,  to  escape  which 
betray  how  much  he  feels  and  how  much  he  restrains; 
and  in  quivering  motions,  gentle  smiles,  slight  con- 
vulsive twitchings  he  shows  the  truth  of  nature.  It  is 
then  that  we  have  the  most  afflicting  picture  of  human 
anguish.  It  is  effected  by  a  perfect,  harmonious  action 
of  the  heart,  lungs,  chest,  neck  and  face. 

Pausing  in  passion,  when  properly  used,  gives  one 
an  idea  of  vastness;  if  too  frequent,  it  tortures  the  ear 
of  the  hearer.  To  re-commence  after  a  pause  with  a 
single  blow — a  crash,  is  startling  in  its  effects. 

Imitate  the  passions  until  the  habit  becomes  reality. 
As  an  assistant,  conceive  strongly  first  the  image,  or 
idea  of  the  passion  in  fancy  to  move  the  same  impressive 
springs  within  your  own  mind  whicli  form  that  passion 
when  it  is  undesigned  and  natural. 

Exercise  very  cautiously — be  delicate  even  in  the 
boldest  expression ;  powerful,  unguided  emotion  kills 
at  a  stroke.  Public  speakers  have  died  in  a  burst  of 
eloquence. 

Though  a  person  be  in  perfect  health,  mental  agony 
will  force  blood  from  the  nostrils,  and  cause  instant 
death.  Culture  regulates  and  balances  excessive  ten- 
dencies ;  it  teaches  us  to  avoid  apathy  on  the  one  hand, 
and  overstrained  energy  on  the  other. 

By  their  amazing  powers  of  eloquence  many  orators 
have  surpassed  the  best  of  actors.  The  orator  incul- 
cates great  living  truths ;  the  actor  plays  only  the 
semblance. 

Mentally,  Shakspeare  illustrates  the  passions  in 
their  highest  possible  condition  ;  he  not  only  gives 
them,  from  the  most  delicate  to  the  most  furious,  but 
he  also  minutely  describes  their  appearance  and  effects. 


44  VOICE  a:nd  action. 

Intellectually,  Shakspeare  was  the  Master  of  the  passions 
and  the  human  heart. 

The  Features. — When  the  soul  is  at  rest  the 
features  are  tranquil.  Their  proportion,  harmony  and 
union  seem  to  mark  the  serenity  of  the  mind.  When 
the  soul  is  excited  the  visage  becomes  a  living  picture. 
Each  emotion  is  designated  by  some  corresponding 
feature,  where  every  impression  anticipates  the  will 
and  betrays  it. 

The  Eyes. — The  passions  are  particularly  painted 
and  soonest  perceived  in  them.  The  eye  seems  to  share 
every  emotion,  and  belong  to  the  soul  more  than  any 
other  feature;  it  receives  and  transmits  impressions 
until  general.  The  whole  heart  sometimes  looks  from 
the  eyes,  and  speaks  more  feelingly  than  all  the  bursts 
of  eloquence. 

The  Eye-brows. — The  eye-brows  are  the  most 
apparent  feature,  and  are  seen  farther  than  any  other. 
Le  Brun  thinks  they  are  the  most  expresssive.  The 
more  movable  they  are  in  elevation  and  depression 
the  more  noticeable  they  become.  The  other  features 
are  not  so  much  at  command  in  this  respect. 

In  pride  and  pleasure  they  are  raised  ;  in  pain  and 
thought,  depressed.  Those  who  have  this  feature  most 
at  command  nre  most  likely  to  excel  in  expression ; 
but  an  excessive  and  improper  use  is  disgustmg. 

The  Nose. — The  nose  has  slight  motion  in  strong 
passions.     Widening,  it  adds  boldness. 

The  Mouth  and  Lips. — ^The  passions  have  great 
power  over  them  in  different,  degrees. 

The  face  with  its  muscles  does  more  in  expressing 
the  passions,  than  the  whole  human  frame  besides.  In 
Anger  it  is  red,  or  pale ;  in  Fear,  pale.  The  mouth 
opened  shows  one  state,  and  shut,  another ;  the  forehead 
smooth  shows  one,  wrinkled,  another. 


ACTORS    AND    ORATORS.  45 

The  eyebrows  can  be  arched,  or  drawn  down.  The 
eye  has  a  different  appearance  in  every  different  state. 
Joy  opens  and  Grief  half  closes  it ;  while  it  flashes  in 
Hatred  and  Anger.  Animation  will  light  even  heavy 
features.  The  expression  of  the  face  goes  beyond  and 
increases  vocality  in  its  effects. 


THE  GREAT  MASTERS  OF  THE  PASSIONS. 

Those  who  seem  to  have  had  the  greatest  command 
of  the  passions  were  Demosthenes,  Cicero,  Bourdaloue, 
Massillon,  Curran,  Grattan,  Pitt,  Henry,  Kossuth, 
Webster  and  Clay  as  orators ;  and  Garrick,  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons,  Talma,  the  elder  Kean,  the  elder  Booth,  and 
Macready  as  actors. 

We  can  append  only  a  few  ideas  gathered  from 
various  sources  that  relate  particularly  to  the  passions, 
as  illustrated  only  by  actors.  We  have  no  traditional 
account  of  orators  in  this  particular  respect. 

But  first  a  word  from  the  celebrated  Dr.  Rush.  He 
says  :  "  The  actor  holds,  both  for  purpose  and  opportu- 
nity, the  first  and  most  observed  position  in  the  art  of 
Elocution,  and  should  long  have  been  our  best  and  all- 
sufiicient  Master  in  its  school.  The  Senate,  the  Pulpit, 
and.  the  Bar,  with  the  verbal  means  of  argument  or 
persuasion  almost  exclusively  before  them,  have  so 
earnestly  or  artfully  pursued  these  leading  interests, 
that  they  have  not  observed  nor  indeed  wished  to 
observe,  how  far  the  cultivated  powers  of  the  voice 
might  have  assisted  the  honest  or  the  ambitious  purpose 
of  their  oratory.  But  with  the  stage,  distinction  is 
attained  through  speech  alone.  The  stage,  however,  has 
not  fulfilled  the  duties  of  its  position ;  for  though  hold- 
ing the  highest  place  of  influential  example  in  the  art, 
and  enjoying  the  immediate  rewards  of  popularity,  it 


46  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

has  done  little  more  than  keep  up  the  tradition  of  its 
business  and  routine ;  without  one  serious  thought  of 
turning  a  discriminative  ear  to  their  vocal  excellence, 
and  thereby  affording  available  instruction  on  the 
means  of  their  success." 

MRS.  SIDDONS DR.  RUSH. 

"  If  she  could  now  be  heard,  I  would  point  in  illus- 
tration to  Britain's  great  mistress  of  the  voice ;  since 
that  cannot  be,  let  those  who  have  not  forgotten  the 
stately  dignity  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  bear  witness  to  the 
eifect  of  that  swelling  energy  by  which  she  richly  en- 
forced the  expression  of  Joy,  and  Surprise,  and  Indig- 
nation. A  w^hole  volume  of  elocution  might  be  taught 
by  her  instances. 

"  All  that  is  smooth  and  flexible,  and  various  in  in- 
tonation, all  that  is  impressive  in  force,  all  that  is  apt 
upon  the  countenance,  and  consonant  in  gesture  gave 
their  united  energy,  and  gracefulness  and  grandeur  to 
this  one  great  model  of  Ideal  Elocution." 

EDMUND  KEAN. 

His  acting  was  a  return  to  nature.  He  produced 
startling  and  wonderful  effects,  the  most  extraordinary 
and  sudden  contrasts.  His  acting  was  electric,  vivid, 
ten-itic.  He  had  the  power  of  sending  forth  super- 
natural glances  of  the  eye,  which  gave  his  utterance  a 
fearful  reality. 

G.  V.    BROOKE. 

He  had  a  majestic  carriage  and  delicate  tenderness. 
He  could  evince  subdued,  yet  most  appalling  despair, 
on  discovering  innocence  after  murder.  (Othello.)  In 
Sir  Giles  Overreach,  he  was  an  incarnate  demon,  blasted, 
paralyzed  by  lightning  at  the  moment  of  triumph. 


ACTOES    AND   THE   PASSIONS.  47 


MACREADY. 

In  the  fifth  act  of  Werner  he  could  utter  a  cry  or 

yell  of  agonized  despair  that  was  horrible ;   like  the 

-  fearful  utterance  of  a  disembodied  wretch  upon  the  rack. 

It   was  wrung  by    Gabor  from  miserable,  shrinking 

Werner,   with    his    heart    torn    and  lacerated   till  it 


breaks. 


THE    ELDER   BOOTH. 


Everything  he  uttered  came  with  all  the  point 
and  eifect  of  which  the  matter  was  susceptible  ;  every 
thought  seemingly  concentrated  on  the  subject.  His 
hate  was  violent  and  unrelenting.  His  vilhainy,  bold 
and  romantic,  and  he  gloated  in  the  sweet  satisfaction 
of  revenge. 

ISABELLA   GLYNN. 

Her  death-scenes  were  poetic  in  conception,  and 
supernatural  in  manner.  Emotions  by  her  were  carried 
to  the  terrible.  In  Margaret,  the  Prophetess,  her  in- 
spiration was  marvellous,  towering  above  till  the  be- 
holder shrunk  with  shuddering  dread;  awfulness  to 
her  became  fjimiliar. 

In  Cleopatra,  in  the  death-scene  with  the  asp,  there 
was  a  glory  upon  her  countenance  as  she  anticipated 
the  meeting  in  the  shades.  She  had  a  sublime,  fearful 
energy  in  jealousy  and  rage,  and  possessed  a  physical 
nerve  little  suspected.  She  had  great  judgment,  how- 
ever, in  deferring  manifestation  of  power.  Upon  the 
whole  it  was  rather  that  she  was  informed  by  meta- 
physical power,  interpreted  by  mental  indications,  than 
material  forces.  Her  mind  was  masculine,  and  endowed 
with  extraordinary  intellectual  strength.  She  had  a 
strong  sense  of  independence  and  honor.     Her  life  was 


48  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

spent  in  close  study  and  practice.  Her  excellence  was 
founded  upon  principles ;  each  character  was  a  new 
application  of  them. 

She  knew  the  value  of  long  pauses ;  had  great 
flexibility  of  voice,  and  not  a  word  w^as  lost  in  quick  or 
slow  time. 


HABITS    OF   THE    ORATOR. 

The  Public  Speaker  should  bathe  frequently,  and 
after  drying  the  body,  apply  a  gentle  friction,  for  a  few 
moments,  by  rubbing  or  patting  the  chest  to  keep  the 
lungs  healthy  and  active.  He  should  also  take  exer- 
cise in  the  open  air. 

He  should  stoutly  resist  the  temptations  of  smoking 
or  chewing  tobacco,  as  decidedly  injurious  to  the  pure 
quality  of  the  voice. 

The  excessive  use  of  sweetmeats,  nuts,  and  confec- 
tions of  any  kind,  has  a  clogging  character  on  the  vocal 
organs. 

Warm  bread,  pastry,  rich  puddings,  cake,  and 
highly-seasoned,  greasy,  or  salt  food,  affect  the  voice 
through  the  instrumentality  of  the  stomach.  In  short 
anything  that  injures  the  latter  affects  the  former. 

It  is  highly  injurious  to  speak  just  after  a  hearty 
meal,  for  the  digestive  and  mental  powers  cannot  ope- 
rate well  at  the  same  time.  The  blood  is  drawn  to 
the  brain  and  throat  at  sucli  a  time,  when  it  is 
needed  to  warm  the  stomach  to  aid  it  in  assimilating 
the  food. 

The  teeth  should  be  kept  clean  as  an  aid  to  distinct 
articulation.  It  is  well  to  brush  them  a  short  time  be- 
fore speaking. 

Have  the  clothing  loose  to  allow  a  free  circulation 
of  the  blood.     Be  especially  careful  about  the  7iec]c  ; 


FOR    SPECIAL    OCCASIONS.  49 

have  the  collar-band  very  loose^  and  never  bandage  nor 
muffle  the  throat. 

The  muscles  of  the  throat  become  soft  and  unelastic 
when  kept  from  the  air.  A  speaker  absolutely  needs 
them  strong  and  firm,  or  he  cannot  intone  his  syllables 
with  accuracy  and  purity  of  sound. 

Clergymen  abuse  their  throats  by  winding  thick 
cloths  about  them,  which  produces  a  cramped  and 
tender  condition  of  the  muscles,  and  induces  irritation, 
huskiness,  and  ''  clergymen's  sore  throat " — the  disease 
so  prevalent  among  them. 

A  few  things  that  tend  to  imj)rove  the  quality 
of  the  voice  for  any  special  occasion,  are  figs, 
apples,  soft-boiled  eggs,  oysters,  raw — or,  if  cooked, 
without  milk  or  butter — stale  bread,  crackers,  or  similar 
diet  ;  no  milk,  tea  or  coffee,  but  plain  water,  and  by  no 
means,  stimulants.     Plain  sugar  clears  the  voice. 

The  ancients  used  onions  and  garlic  freely,  to  pro- 
mote the  tone  and  purity  of  the  voice,  but  the  age  has 
so  advanced  in  some  respects  that  we  might  deem  them 
objectionable. 

For  hoarseness  do  not  take  troches,  or  similar  nos- 
trums. They  contain  drugs  which  stimulate  for  the 
moment,  but  eventually  destroy  the  voice.  Habit  begets 
the  necessity  of  using  them.  Instead,  take  simple  re- 
medies ;  drink  cold  water  at  night,  or  use  plain  syrup 
or  molasses,  or  some  other  means  as  simple.  Do  not 
eat  lemons  or  use  acids  for  such  a  purpose  just  before 
speaking ;  such  things  only  clog  the  stomach,  inflame 
the  throat,  and,  consequently,  cannot  instantly  improve, 
but  rather  injure,  the  voice. 

If  necessary  to  walk  about  much,  or  to  any  distance, 
before  speaking,  do  it  gently,  not  rapidly,  so  as  to  be- 
come fatigued  and  exhausted.     Sit  quiet,  if  possible,  a 
short  time  before  speaking, 
3 


60  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

Abstain  from  tlie  use  of  water  Avhile  speaking.  It 
requires  digestion  to  a  certain  extent,  and  must,  there- 
fore, more  or  less  interfere  with  the  oratorical  powers. 
It  is  only  a  vicious  habit  to  stop  every  lew  moments  to 
swallow  a  large  draught  of  water.  A  person  must 
reform  this  habit,  which  he  blindly  commenced,  if  he 
desires  an  untrammeled  use  of  his  mental  and  vocal 
powers. 

Even  in  the  warmest  weather,  and  when  perspira- 
tion is  freely  induced,  there  is  no  necessity  of  drinking 
at  the  time  of  speaking,  even  if  it  should  occupy  an 
hour  or  more.  A  moderate  quantity  of  water,  not  too 
cold,  may  be  drunk  half  an  hour  before,  or  very  soon 
afterward. 

Form  the  habit  of  breathing  while  going  to  the 
place  of  public  speaking.  Sound  the  voice  gently,  in 
deep  undertones,  that  you  may  appear  in  good  condi- 
tion when  you  commence  to  speak. 

All  this  can  be  done  without  attracting  the  attention 
of  passers  by  on  the  road  or  street,  whether  in  the  vil- 
lage or  the  city. 

DESIGNED  ESPECIALLY  FOR  STUDENTS. 

In  moving  from  your  seat  to  the  stage,  rise  easily, 
but  firmly.  As  you  approach  the  place,  feel  your 
whole  weighty  by  a  manly,  dignified,  yet  simple  walk. 
Do  not  bend  the  knees  mincingly,  but  swing  the  lower 
limbs  easily  and  gracefully  at  each  step. 

Let  the  lungs  be  slowly,  quietly  filled,  until  the 
moment  of  commencing ;  this  efibrts  sends  the  blood  to 
the  brain,  and  gives  it  power  to  act  with  firmness  and 
decision. 

It  prevents  nervousness,  and  gives  the  voice  fulness 
to  start  well.  It  prevents  a  burst  of  loudness,  so  com- 
mon to  young  orators  in  commencing  their  orations. 


FOK   STUDENTS.  51 

In  bo^Ying  to  the  President  and  other  officers,  (on 
public  occasions.)  let  the  movement  he  one  of  great 
respect.  The  whole  form  should  bend  slightly,  and  the 
hands  should  hang  loosely  by  the  side.  To  the  audi- 
tors, however,  as  you  turn  to  them,  the  effort  should  be 
but  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head. 

The  orator  at  that  moment  should  see  his  audience, 
even  to  the  farthest  person  before  him,  and  above  him, 
if  the  building  have  galleries. 

The  motion  should  be  general  in  its  character  ;  not 
with  the  mere  formial  idea  of  bowing,  but  feeling  that 
the  motion  is  really  but  the  opening  expression  of  the 
first  sentence  of  the  oration.  It  should  be  a  kind  of 
looking  around  the  place,  and  a  gathering  together  of 
the  attention  of  the  hearers  immediately  preparatory 
to  the  positive  use  of  the  voice. 

There  should  be  hardly  a  perceptible  difference  of 
effect  between  the  bow  and  the  beginning  of  the  speech. 
Students,  especially,  often  err  in  isolating  the  bow,  by  a 
protracted  time  in  its  application,  from  the  vocal ity  that 
follows.  It  is  a  part  of  the  oration,  not  a  separate,  dis- 
tinct feature ,  and  if  not  given  properly,  there  is  a  void 
— a  something  that  cannot  be  agreeably  filled,  but 
must  be  forgotten  as  the  orator  proceeds. 

The  only  way  of  doing  this  correctly  is,  slightly  and 
slowly  to  bend  the  head,  not  the  body,  searching  around 
with  the  eyes,  and  see ^*/?^  the  audience,  and  then  to  step 
forward  and  begin  to  speak,  while  the  head  is  gradually 
resuming  its  natural  upright  position,  thus  beginning 
with  the  bow  itself,  and  not  after  it  is  made. 

You  look  into  the  eyes  of  persons  with  whom  you 
converse,  and  you  must  do  the  same  with  an  audience, 
from  the  moment  you  turn  to  them  until  you  leave 
them. 

Ordinarily  there  should  be  no  gestures  in  commenc- 


52  VOICE    AND    ACTION". 

ing  ;  the  look  of  the  eye  and  the  slight  movements  and 
swaying  of  the  head  and  body  being  sufficient. 

In  reading  an  essay  it  is  proper  to  make  a  slight  bow, 
but  seeing  the  audience  as  in  speaking.  While  utter- 
ing the  first  sentence  move  easily  forward  a  few  steps. 

When  you  become  deeply  interested  in  your  subject 
move  occasionally,  but  do  not  step  and  walk  needlessly 
about.  Either  extreme,  of  standing  still,  or  of  walking 
all  over  the  stage,  is  to  be  avoided.  There  is  a  simple 
mean,  which  is,  moving  as  though  you  were  impelled 
to  do  so. 

Become  so  thoroughly  imbued  with  your  subject, 
by  frequent  and  repeated  communings  with  it,  that 
standing  still  will  become  almost  impossible,  and  step- 
ping about  will  disturb  rather  than  assist  you. 

Be  careful  that  every  vocal  expression  is  to  the  pur- 
pose, and  that  you  have  a  good  reason  for  every  ges- 
ture, look,  and  movement.  Speak  and  gesticulate  as 
though  you  could  not  help  speaking,  and  in  just  that 
manner,  as  though  any  other  could  not  possibly  answer 
the  purpose. 

Do  not  make  mere  motions,  but  study  the  necessity 
of  gestures.  Avoid  alternating  gestures  ;  use  the  same 
hand  for  pointing  out  different  objects  and  localities, 
when  enumerated  in  the  same  period  of  language. 
Vary  the  direction  of  the  hand,  and  give  another 
form  to  the  motion,  but  do  not  drop  one  hand  and  raise 
the  other,  but  if  necessary  use  both.  Be  sure  to  sustain 
each  gesture,  by  varying  its  direction,  until  the  idea  has 
closed  with  a  cadence  of  the  voice. 

In  preparing  an  oration  or  exercise  for  a  public  oc- 
casion, the  first  thing  is  to  have  a  general  understand- 
ing of  the  wliole  composition,  by  reading  it  all  over 
carefully  a  number  of  times.  Think  of  its  prevailing 
spirit,  and  get  a  plan  of  it  fixed  in  your  mind. 


PROMrTING.  53 

Do  not  begin  by  memorizing  the  first  sentence  and 
then  the  second.  That  begets  the  depraved  habit  of 
only  knowing  the  words.  Study  the  entire  oration  in 
meaning  first  ;  next  separate  the  ideas  ;  then  take  the 
phraseology,  and  lastly  the  words. 

It  is  only  in  some  such  manner  that  you  will  ever 
get  the  spirit  of  the  language  ;  and  learn  to  listen  to 
yourself^  with  the  assurance  of  having  others  listen  to 
you  wdth  gratification  and  pleasure. 

Even  after  the  oration  is  well  committed,  review  and 
reflect  upon  it  sentence  by  sentence,  until  you  get  all 
you  can  out  of  each,  especially  just  before  using  it  in 
public,  or  it  will  only  sound  like  a  mere  declamation. 

The  night  before  is  an  excellent  time  to  make  it 
fresh  for  the  next  day,  no  matter  how  often  you  may 
have  previously  looked  at  it.  Search  it  through  and 
through  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Study  the  words  as  so 
many  links,  and  have  their  tone  and  full  grammatical 
and  expressional  meaning.  Keep  it  together  as  a  whole 
in  your  mind. 

Be  especially  cautious  in  the  pronunciation  of  com- 
mon words,  such  as  been,  again,  against,  often,  little, 
and,  none,  nothing,  ignorant,  patriot,  patriotism,  na- 
tional, government,  &c.,  which  are  often  frightfully  dis- 
torted by  students. 

Prompting. — Of  this  I  wish  to  make  a  special  note. 
Above  all  things  never  allow  yourself  to  \)q  prompted. 
It  is  extremely  annoying  and  disagreeable  to  refined 
and  sensitive  people  to  feel  that  a  person  has  committed 
merely  so  many  words,  but  it  is  far  worse  to  know  that 
another  is  ready  with  a  manuscript  to  prompt  his  un- 
certain memory. 

With  such  an  exhibition,  one  "  spouting^'*  another 
prompting,  "  primary"  children  might  be  pardoned, 
but  students  ought  to  be  ashamed. 


54  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

It  evinces  the  grossest  indifference  to  the  feelings 
of  the  audience,  and  betrays  a  servile  dependence  upon 
mere  terms,  instead  of  having  thoroughly  imbibed  the 
true  spirit  of  the  subject. 

To  be  sure,  the  words  are  necessary,  but  let  them  be 
well  committed^  and  do  not  sacrifice,  in  the  few  minutes 
only,  the  patience  of  the  many  by  the  mere  laziness  of 
pur])ose  in  an  individual. 

It  is  even  better  and  far  more  manly  to  take  the 
manuscript  from  your  pocket  and  read,  than  to  be, 
prompted.  The  best  way  is,  to  study  it  so  completely 
that  you  will  not  need  to  do  even  that. 

GENERAL   DIRECTIONS. 

Begin  with  a  moderate  voice.  Try  to  feel  at  ease 
by  looking  around,  and  shaking  off  any  stiffness  of  po- 
sition. Keep  your  mind  composed  and  collected. 
Guard  against  bashfulness,  which  will  wear  away  by 
opposition.  Think  of  what  you  are  going  to  say,  and 
not  merely  of  the  audience. 

Be  manly  but  simple.  You  must  acquire  assurance 
— Ftrst^  by  thoroughly  mastering  your  subject,  and 
the  consciousness  that  you  can  make  what  you  are 
to  deliver  worth  hearing.  Secondly^  by  wholly  engag- 
ing in  it,  with  the  mind  intent  on  it,  and  the  heart 
warmed  with  it. 

Never  be  influenced  and  moved  by  outside  circum- 
stances.    Be  yourself  and  hnoio  yourself. 

Have  a  presence  that  fills  the  limits.  Whatever 
changes  you  may  have  occasion  to  make  in  voice  and 
gesture,  should  be  simple  and  easy,  so  as  not  to  detract 
from  the  interest.  Have  your  gestures  in  argumenta- 
tive language  aimed  directly  to  your  audience ;  look 
into  their  eyes  and  not  into  a  vacuum. 


BEFORE   AN   AUDIENCE,  55 

Make  them  feel  tliat  it  is  to  each  of  them  that  you 
are  speaking ;  yet  speak  to  all  at  once.  Search  and 
penetrate  the  entire  mass  of  listeners.  Have  the  power 
to  distribute  expression. 

The  tendency  of  youthful  orators  is  to  look  point 
blank  directly  in  front  of  them,  and  to  lean  with  the 
body  towards  the  right  hand  alone.  The  position  should 
be  imperceptibly  changed  sufficiently  often  to  keep  the 
attention  of  each  hearer  constantly  on  the  alert. 
Be  sure  that  every  one  is  listening  to  you,  and  yet  do 
not  individualize^  as  it  is  extremely  disagreeable  to 
an  auditor  to  find  himself  selected  from  the  rest. 

Look  around  frequently  from  side  to  side,  from  end 
to  end,  quietly  and  easily,  and  control  all  your  hearers. 
Instead  of  simply  making  them  hear  you,  have  them 
listen  to  each  word  by  your  pronouncing  it  clearly  and 
distinctly. 

Do  not  speak  too  loud,  but  have  the  intonations  of 
the  voice  full,  strong,  and  sonorous.  Do  not  betray 
mannerisms  in  either  voice  or  action. 

Whether  you  speak  before  a  large  assembly,  or  in  a 
small  room,  do  it  naturally,  but  in  either  case  have  the 
requisite  power  to  properly  Jill  the  space  with  your 
voice.  Address  yourself,  at  each  moment,  however 
light  the  sentiment,  to  the  farthest  person  in  the  place, 
for  everybody  wishes  to  hear. 

When  you  have  attained  the  strength  beyond  which 
you  cannot  go  without  forcing  the  voice,  stop  there 
until  you  have  acquired  the  requisite  power  by  ele- 
mentary drill.  ISTever  raise  the  pitch,  but  increase  the 
force. 

In  echoing  buildings,  speak  slowly  and  distinctly, 
pause  often,  and  try  to  adapt  the  voice  to  the  peculi- 
arities of  the  place. 


bQ  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

Even  under  the  most  annoying  circumstances,  be  com- 
posed and  listen  to  your  own  ideas  as  if  you  were  an  audi- 
tor instead  of  the  orator.  This  will  prevent  declamation. 

]N"ever  get  out  of  breath,  nor  appear  to  be  fatigued. 
Breathe  unconsciously,  by  forming  the  habit  ;  every 
kind  of  puffing  and  panting  is  disagreeable. 

By  breathing  deeply  we  stir  the  blood,  animate  the 
thinking  powers,  and  prevent  nervousness  and  hesita- 
tion. 

Never  lose  or  relax  entirely  the  grasp  in  expression  ; 
increase  or  diminish  the  force,  raise  or  lower  the  pitch, 
but  never  entirely  slacken  the  nervous  power  that  holds 
all  together  to  the  end. 

Even  in  the  lightest  sentiments  breathe  out  the  ex- 
pression, so  that  the  weaning  of  each  word  is  felt  by 
all. 

Deliberate,  reflect,  think,  as  it  were,  from  head  to 
foot,  of  what  you  are  saying,  word  by  word,  and  yet 
spanning  it  as  a  whole  ;  retaining  the  meaning,  by  in- 
tonat'ons,  looks,  and  actions,  and  still  collecting  ideas 
that  follow,  till  the  entire  subject  is  brought  to  a  satis- 
factory termination.  This  makes  an  audience  listen 
rather  than  simply  hear. 

They  can  then  understand  line  by  line,  idea  after 
idea,  each  exactly  and  accurately  as  a  part  of  the 
whole. 

The  mind  must  act  comprehensively^  and  hold  sway 
over  the  entire  subject,  as  the  voice  intones  and  deals 
out  the  parts  ;  the  sense  is  to  be  held  suspended  and 
swayingly,  without  break  or  interruption,  to  its  close. 

Appropriate  gesture  and  action  will  assist  very  ma- 
terially to  hold  and  bind  it  together  in  this  desired 
manner.  It  helps  to  point  out,  to  note  the  meaning  by 
the  movement  of  the  hands,  the  head,  the  eyes,  the 
body  and  feet — in  fact  by  all  parts  of  the  frame.     Ges- 


READING   IN   PUBLIC.  57 

ture  is  not  absolute,  yet  must  not  be  merely  impulsive 
motions. 

In  reading  from  a  book  or  manuscript,  hold  it  low 
enough  to  allow  everybody  present  to  see  your  face; 
a  good  rule  is,  that  the  top  of  it  would  touch  your 
chin  if  inclined  toward  the  body. 

In  reading  look  from  the  book  or  paper  as  frequently 
as  possible,  as  if  you  were  s^jeaking,  but  with  less 
action.  Practice  first  in  private,  in  a  conversational 
manner,  and  when  in  public  give  satisfactory  force. 

SHORT  HINTS. 

Be  natural  ;  do  not  aim  at  too  much  ;  do  not  try  to 
read,^  but  to  feel ;  do  not  declaim,  but  talk;  be  collo- 
quial, yet  not  prosaic  ;  \)q  forcible^  but  not  ranting.  Be 
in  earnest,  profoundly  in  earnest.  Be  moderate  in  ges- 
ture ;  be  impetuous  and  ardent ;  do  not  command  by 
sympathy,  but  by  power,  passion,  will — indomitable 
will.  Keep  the  body  firm  and  braced  in  high  excitement ; 
keep  the  sinews  braced  up  like  the  strings  of  a  harp  or 
violin ;  be  simple  and  without  parade.  Speak  as  though 
the  whole  thought  was  your  own  ;  give  passionate 
thoughts  a  rapid  condensation ;  give  the  words  a  vi- 
bratory intonation  ;  suppress  force,  and  treasure  strength 
and  power.  Concentrated  tones  of  passion  are  better 
than  the  highest  fury ,  Imbue  each  thought  with  all 
its  capability  of  expression,  and  conceive  fullest  force 
in  each  particular.  Be  intense  and  passionate  in  inton- 
ation, the  whole  soul  absorbed.  In  the  severest  passions 
delineate  to  appal ;  be  real ;  let  the  form  fill  the  eye 
of  the  listener.  Effect  by  tone  of  voice,  the  power  of 
the  eye,  the  motion  of  the  hand,  and  the  quality  of  the 
sound  given.  Fervor  is  sure  to  effect.  Read  like  one 
possessing  good  sense  unconsciously  /  be  the  character, 
3* 


58  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

forget  self.  Conception  of  character,  or  passion,  comes 
long  hefore  execution^  is  not  imitation  but  reality  oi feel- 
ing. To  be  a  hero,  feel  to  be  so.  Do  not  despise  trifles. 
Do  not  guess  but  determine  abilities.  Practice  often^ 
for  the  vocal  organs  become  paralyzed  for  want  of 
action. 


BEAUTIES    OF   DELIVERY.  (aBBEEVIATED). DE.    BAEBEE. 

Voice — full,  strong,  agreeable. 

Simple  Melody — not  monotonous. 

Enunciation — exact,  audible  ;  not  affected  precise- 
ness. 

Recurrent  Melody — not  monotonous. 

High  Tones — on  emphatic  words  free  from  monot- 
ony. 

Radical  Stress — effectively  used. 

Quality — not  drawled,  or  sung. 

Consonants — free  from  drawl. 

Slides — Pitch,  downward.     Had.,  positive. 

Van,  Stress — not  monotonous. 

Cadence — proper  place. 

Pai^enthesis — Paragraphs — changed  by  transitions 
of  Pitch,  Time,  and  Quality  of  Voice. 

The  Sense — vividly  expressed  by  the  vocal  powers. 


PRACTICAL   ELOCUTIOK 


BREATHING. 

YoicE  is  breath  converted  into  sound  ;  and  the  lungs,  acted 
upon  by  the  muscles  of  the  diaphragm,  as  the  handle  to  the 
blacksmith's  bellows,  are  the  principal  organs  of  respiration. 
The  more  breath,  and  the  greater  the  power  of  these  muscles, 
the  stronger  and  fuller  the  voice.  There  should  be  no  more 
action  of  the  inner  muscles  and  lining  of  the  throat  than  is 
absolutely  necessary  for  complete  and  firm  intonation^  for  in 
this  manner  the  throat  receives  no  injury.  Practice  this 
either  in  the  open  air^  or  be  sure  to  have  plenty  of  fresh  air 
in  your  room. 

ExEECisE. — Stand  erect,  throw  the  shoulders  back,  keep 
the  neck  straight,  concentrate  the  mind  on  the  lower  muscles 
that  propel  the  air  from  the  lungs,  giving  them  all  possible 
space.     Breathe  a  few  times  naturally. 

Then  draw  in  air  slowly^  steadily^  making  little  effort, 
through  a  'oery  small  orifice  of  the  mouth,  with  the  lips  com- 
pactly "  pursed  "  together.  Whfen  the  lungs  are  completely 
filled,  retain  the  air  for  a  moment,  then  breathe  all  out  slowly 
and  quietly,  letting  the  chest  down  very  gradually.  Then 
breathe  once  full,  then  out,  in  the  ordinary  manner. 

It  is  well,  during  the  breathing,  to  gently  pat  the  lungs 
with  the  hands.  Practice  this  'cery  cautiously  at  first.  If 
dizziness  ensue,  stop  for  a  while,  move  about,  and  relief  will 
follow. 

If  the  exercise  is  too  severe,  for  beginners,  do  not  repeat  the 
effort  often  until  custom  has  made  it  easier.  "When  able  to  do 
this  without  injurious  effects,  practice  it  rigidly  as  of  the  first 
importance. 


60  VOICE    AND   ACTTOIS". 

[ISToTE.— The  greater  length  of  time  occupied  in  this  exercise  the  better. 
The  author  can  breathe  easily  for  two  or  three  minutes  inwardly,  and  then, 
reversing  the  effort,  breathe  out,  occupying  very  nearly  the  same  amount  of 
time. 

ExEEOisE. — Breathe  out  all  you  can  of  the  natural  air  that 
may  be  in  the  lungs;  press  the  chest  and  ribs  inwardly,  and 
crowd  them  about  under  the  arm-pits  with  the  heels  of  the 
hands  to  squeeze  out  what  air  may  be  left,  and  breathe  back 
again  quickly. 

Move  the  shoulders  forward,  when  breathing  out,  and 
backward  when  breathing  in  to  aid  these  efforts. 

A  variety  of  these  exercises  should  be  devised  by  the  pupil. 
They  promote  the  expansion  and  capacity  of  the  lungs,  and  the 
elasticity  and  moMlity  of  the  chest.  Immense  advantage  will 
be  derived  from  gymnastic  drills  of  this  character. 

ExEECiSE. — Arms  forward  at  right  angles  with  the  chest ; 
breathe  slowly  till  the  lungs  are  comfortably  filled.  Draw  the 
arms  gently  back,  emptying  the  lungs,  then  project  them. 
Then  throw  them  molently  forward,  then  backward,  closing 
the  fists  as  they  return.  Do  not  overdo.  If  a  person  should 
practice  nothing  else  than  the  foregoing  exercises,  he  would 
find  the  voice  improving  wonderfully  in  strength  and  fulness 
within  afeio  weelcs. 

Remark. — As  soon  as  practicable,  learn  to  breathe  through 
the  nostrih  instead  of  the  mouth,  especially  when  drawing  in 
the  air,  as  this  process  is  less  liable  to  parch  the  throat,  and 
produce  irritation.  Tiiis  manner  of  breathing  will  widen  the 
nasal  cavity,  strengthen  the  muscles  of  the  nostrils,  keep  the 
lungs  healihy,  and  improve  the  quality  of  the  voice.  Persons 
unaccustomed  to  an  energetic  employment  of  the  lungs  find 
it  exceedingly  difi5cult  to  use  the  nostrils  effectively.  The 
preceding  exercises  are  designed  to  develope  a  litile  Inng 
power  first,  and  are  not  likely  to  prove  injurious  if  the  air  is 
drawn  t)ery  slowly^  and  through  a  "cery  small  aperture  of  the 
lips.  Even  when  walking,  especially  if  moting  rapidly,  learn 
to  keep  the  mowWx  firmly  shut,  and  breathe  exclusively  through 
the  nose.  Lung  and  even  other  diseases,  are  brought  on  more 
frequently  from  an  open  mouth,  particularly  \vhen  sleeping, 
than  from  almost  any  other  cause.     By  putting  the  mind  upon 


BEEATHIXG    EXERCISES.  61 

it  with  a  determmation  to  succeed,  the  habit  of  keeping  it 
shut  can  be  acquired  both  for  waking  and  sleeping  hours,  for 
the  results  of  what  is  resolutely  done  in  the  one  time  will  un- 
consciously be  carried  into  the  other.  There  is  a  philosophy 
in  this  breathing  process  that  perhaps  need  not  be  explained 
in  a  work  of  this  character. 

EXERCISES. 

Audible. — Fill  the  lungs  slowly  through  the  nostrils ; 
then  open  the  mouth,  and  slowly  give  the  sound  of  K  (Kh), 

FoEOiBLE. — Fill  the  lungs  and  cough,  or  explode  the  voice 
upon  the  sound  of  HA !  !  !  or  draw  in  the  air  and  then  expel 
it  with  the  utmost  vehemence  without  vocality. 

Sighing. — (An  extreme  condition.)  Open  the  mouth,  fill 
the  lungs  suddenly,  and  also  emit  suddenly. 

Gasping. — Similar  to  sighing,  but  the  air  cannot  pass  in 
fast  enough  througli  the  mouth  and  nostrils  combined;  it  is  an 
unnatural,  exhausted  condition,  a  struggle  for  breath. 

Panting. — Is  somewhat  similar  to  sighing  and  gasping. 
The  air  is  drawn  in  quickly  and  violently,  and  emitted  loudly. 

Loud  Whisper. — In  this  the  voice  is  high,  with  pure  as^ura- 
tion.  It  is  an  excellent  practice  but  must  be  indulged  in  with 
great  caution.     Count,  1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10. 

Exercise  in  Vocality. — Slowly  fill  the  lungs  through  the 
nostrils,  and  then  very  deliberately  count  1, — 2, — 3, — 4, — 5, — 
6,— 7— 8,-9,— 10. 

Exercise. — Slowly  fill  the  lungs,  and  then  with  the  mouth 
WELL  OPENED   and  ARCHED,  gently   repeat,    in   a  pure,  firm, 

steady-toned  voice,  a e i o u oi ou.  Have 

the  sounds  strike  the  roof  of  the  mouth. 

Note. — Persons  with  weak  lungs  and  throats  sometimes  refrain  from  such 
exercises;  but  the  practice  is  even  recommended  as  a  cure  for  bronchitis  and 
pulmonary  complaints. 

ARTICULATION. 

1234  12  12  1234  123 

YowELs. — a,  a,  a,  a,  —  e,  e,  —  i,  i,  —  o,  o,  o,  o,  —  u,  u,  u. 
Diphthongs. — oi,  ou. 


62 


VOICE    AND   ACTION. 


Consonants. — The  consonants  are  given  thus  : — Stand 
firm,  e'cery  muscle  hraced^  fill  the  lungs  with  air,  and  then  hold- 
ing thera  distended  a  moment,  pronounce  the  word  so  as  to 
feel  the  whole  tody  partaking  of  the  sounds.  The  lungs  should 
be  the  chief  object  of  your  attention  in  these  exercises. 
Dwell  solidly  on  the  initial  sound  a  moment,  then  pass  on  to 
the  vowel  sound  between,  and  finally,  firmly  bear  the  voice 
upon  the  closing  sound.  If  properly  given,  these  exercises  will 
strengthen  the  muscles  of  the  mouth  and  neck,  and  remove 
the  least  tendency  to  irritation  of  the  delicate  membranes  of  the 
throat. 


B-tb 

3 

J-o-j 

2 

P-i-p 

ou 

W-o-w 

Sh-u-sh 

2 

D-i-d 

K-lk 

1 
E-o-r 

oi 

Y-o-y 

2 

Th-in-tb 

1 
F-i-f 

3 

L-a-1 

2 

S-e-s 

2 

Z-u-z 

1 
Th-o-th 

4 

G-o-g 

2 

M-u-m 

4 

T-a-t 

2 

Ch-ur-ch 

2 

Wh-u-wh 

2 

H-a-h 

2 

N-o-n 

V-e-v 

2         2 

Si-ng-i-ng 

A-z-ure 

The  vowels  in  the  preceding  are  to  be  sounded  as  in  fate^ 

23  4  121  2  12  34 

far^  fall^  fat^  —  me^  met^ — pine^  pin^  —  no^   mo'oe^  nor^  noty 

12         3 

tuhe,  tub^  hull.  In  these  two  exercises  are  all  the  elementary 
sounds  of  the  English  language,  and  also  the  combinations  oi^ 
ou^  ch^  ng^  sh^  th,  (light)  th,  (heavy)  why  and  2!  (zh),  C,  Q,  and 
X  are  represented  by  other  letters. 

[Note.— Pwre  tone  should  be  aimed  at  in  all  these  exercises.  Persons  may 
thus  distinguish  pure  from  impure  tones.  A  word  or  sound  spoken  with  pure 
tone  is  given  in  such  a  manner  that  all  the  breath  thus  employed,  is  convert- 
ed so  completely  into  clear  vocality,  that  if  a  small  lamp  or  candle  were  held 
within  an  inch  even  of  the  mouth,  the  flame  would  scarcely  tremble.  Impure 
tone,  on  the  contrary,  would  have  so  much  respiration  or  breath  as  to  immedi- 
ately extinguish  the  light  thus  held.  If  the  candle  is  not  at  all  times  conve- 
nient, the  experiment  may  be  illustrated  by  using  the  hand.  A  pure-toned 
sound  cannot  be  felt  when  uttered  against  the  back  of  the  hand,  for  the  sound 
is  not  forced  from  the  mouth,  but  reverberates  within  it.  An  impure  tone  is 
felt,  like  the  breath,  in  proportion  to  its  impurity  or  aspirated  character.  This 
shows  that  the  more  intonation  the  breath  can  have,  the  bettor,  except  in  such 
expressions  as  call  for  aspiration.] 


ABTTCULATION.  63 

However  desirable  distinct  articulation  may  be,  jon  should 
never  dwell  on  a  sound,  but  give  it  forcibly  and  instantly 
change  to  the  next  without  appearing  to  interrupt  the  free 
course  of  the  breath. 

Enunciation  is  the  basis  of  the  art ;  it  is  this  which  gives 
nerve  and  energy  to  accomplished  speakers  :  which  fills  lan- 
guage with  VITALITY,  and  renders  it  eeal  and  living. 

3    2    4    1  I    I    I    2    2    2 

Tonics. — a,  a,  a,  a,  ou,  i,  o,  e,  o,  e,  i. 

SuBTONios.— B,  D,  G,  y,  Z,  Y,  W,  Th,  Zh,  Ng,  L,  M,  N,  R^ 
Atonios.—    P,  T,  K,  F,  S,  H,  Wh,  Th,  Sh. 
Abrupt  Elements. — B,  D,  G,  P,  T,  K.     (See  RusJi^  on  the 
Voice.) 

ARTIOULATIOK— VOWELS. 

aye,  age,  late,  gale. — He  gaYQ>  to  the  gale  his  snow-white  sazl. 

bereave,  redeem,  agr^^. — Swift  instinct  l^aps ;  slow  reason  feeb- 
ly climbs. 

t^e,  rye,  why,  miwe, — Theprzmal  duties  shine  aloft  k'ke  stars. 

roll,  d<?rne,  tone,  woe. — The  freed  ^ou\  soars  to  its  Lome  on 
high. 

tt^be,  hwe,  valwe,  new, — There  is  mi^sic  in  the  deep  bl^e  sky. 

far,  bar,  prilm,  ah. — The  calm  shade  shall  bring  a  kindred 
calm. 

mat,  man,  and,  at. — The  good  man  has  perpetual  sabbath. 

met,  let,  well,  end. — Thence  the  bright  spirit's  eloquence  hath 
fled. 

captam,  if,  hit,  bit. — The  sick  earth  groans  with  man's  iniqui- 
ties. 

all,  call,  walk,  awe. — Of  all  that's  boly,  holiest  is  the  good 
man's  pall. 

trt/e,  cloo??^,  rwle,  true, — Blows  were  our  welcome,  r^^de  bruises 
our  reward. 

fz^ll,  pt^sh,  wolf,  foot. — For  his  own  good  alone  man  shoidd  not 
toil. 

wad,  blot,  odd,  was. — The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained. 


64  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

-wp,  come,  run,  mwff. — Some  fretful   tempers  wince  at  every 

touch, 
soi],  ])oint^  voice,  oH. — It  is  the   Yoice  of  joy  that  murmurs 

deep. 
Bound,   loud,    vow,    how, — Thow  look'st  beyond  life's  narrow 

hound. 


SIMPLE  CONSON'ANTS. 

lobe,  mo&,  hih,  soZ>,  ro5. — ^Life  may  long  de  Some  'ere  sorrow 

breaks  its  chain. 
did,  dead,  deed,  aid. — Death  deals  with  all,  of  high  or  low 

(degree. 
fife,  if,  whijf,/ine. — Fondfancj  retraces  the/ar  o^past. 
gag,  rag,  hag,  gig,  log. — Life  itself  must  go  to  him  who  ^ave 

it. 
hat,  how,  hall,  hope. — ^I  /^eard— and  the  moral  came  home  to 

my  ^eart. 
baZZ,  pall,  call. — ZoneZy  and  lovely  was  the  silent  g?en. 
maim,  mnm,  mammon. — All  men  think  all  men  mortal  but 

the??2selves. 
ninny,  none,  nine,  noon. — To  err  is  human  ;  to  forgive  divi?^e. 
pip,  pipe,  apple,  hope. — Wave  your  to^s  ye  jpines  in  praise 

and  worship, 
right,  row,  rang  rope. — The  rocks  are  riven,  and  rifted  oaks 

uptorn.    (trilled.) 
car,  star,  far,  morn,  warn. — His  cheek  is  impearled  with   a 

mother's  warm  tear,  (smooth.) 
mve,  mvid,  save,  ^ine. — Fast  the  wa^^e  of  life  is  ebbing  from 

our  ^eins. 
iDoe,  wnn,  went,  wave. — What  most  i^e^^ish  with  ease  we  fancy 

near. 
year,  yarn,  yoke,  yes  — Tlien  from  glad  youth  to  calm  decline 

my  years  would  gently  glide, 
jud^e,  ^in^er,  a^ze. — Eden's  pure  gems  angelic  lep^ions  keep. 
hicJc,  Jcept,  caJce,  Mte. — Where  the  sicHe  cuts  down  the  yellow 

corn, 
cease,  miss,  sister. — So  sweet  her  song,  that  sadness  weeping 

smiled. 


SIMPLE    CONSONANTS.  65 

tint^  tent^  "ben^,  leu^. — We  ^ake  no  notQ  of  time,  hut  from  i^s 

loss, 
was  2!oiie,  rose,  has. — Wis'dom  mounts  her  zenith  to  the  stars. 
song,  thing,  hung,  rung, — It  mingles  with  the  dross  of  earth 

again,  and  mmgVmg  falls. 
pusA,  la.^^,  flasA,  da.sh. — List  to  thesAout,  the  sAock,  the  cras^ 

of  steel. 
*^in,  ^Aeme,  hreatJi. — Fai^A  touches  all  ^Mngs  with  the  hues 

of  heaven,  (light.) 
^Aan,  ^Aou,  benea^A  thus. — Then  shalt  ^^ou  find  thsit  thou  wilt 

loai^Ae  thj  life,  (heavy.) 
wJiichj  when,  what,  where. —  When  and  where  shall  we  seek 

repose  ? 
a^ure,  me^^sure,  treasure. — No  rapture  dawns,  no  treasure  is 

revealed, 
sia^,  flaaj,  mia^,  taa?. — Empires  wane  and  waa?,  are  founded  and 

decay, 
bap's,  e:i;act,  ea;ist. — Let  us  ea;ult  in  hope,  that  all  shall  yet  be 

well. 

EXEECISE    SLOWLY — THEN   EAPIDLT,    BUT   DISTmCTLT. 

a-b,  e-b,  i-b,  o-b,  u-b, — ^b-a,  b-e,  b-i,  b-o,  b-u,  b-oi,  b-ou. 

a-d,  e-d,  i-d,  o-d,  u-d,— d-a,  d-e,  d-i,  d-o,  d-u,  d-oi,  d-ou. 

a-f,  e-f,  i-f,  o-f,  u-f,— f-a,  f-e,  f-i,  f-o,  f-u,  f-oi,  f-ou. 

a-g,  e-g,  i-g,  o-g,  u-g,— g-a,  g-e,  g-i,  g-o,  g-u,  g-oi,  g-ou. 

a-k,  e-k,  i-k,  o-k,  u-k,— k-a,  k-e,  k-i,  k-o,  k^u,  k-oi,  k-ou. 

a-1,  e-1,  i-1,  0-1,  u-1,— 1-a,  1-e,  1-i,  l-o,  1-u,  1-oi,  1-ou. 

a-m,  e-m,  i-m,  o-m,  u-m, — m-a,  m-e,  m-i,  m-o,  m-u,  m-oi,  m-ou, 

a-n,  e-n,  i-n,  o-n,  u-n, — n-a,  n-e,  n-i,  n-o,  n-u,  n-oi,  n-ou. 

a-p,  e-p,  i-p,  o-p,  u-p,— p-a,  p-e,  p-i,  p  o,  p-u,  p-oi,  p-ou. 

a-r,  e-r,  i-r,  o-r,  u-r, — r-a,  r-e,  r-i,  r-o,  r-u,  r-oi,  r-ou. 

a-s,  e-s,  i-s,  o-s,  u-s, — s-a,  s-e,  s-i,  s-o,  s-u,  s-oi»  s-ou. 

a-t,  e-t,  i-t,  o-t,  u  t, — t-a,  t-e,  t-i,  t-o,  t-u,  t-oi,  t-ou. 

a-v,  e-v,  i-v,  o-v,  u-v, — v-a,  v-e,  v-i,  v-o,  v-u,  v-oi,  v-ou. 

a-z,  e-z,  i-z  o-z,  u-z, — z-a,  z-e,  z-i,  z-o,  z-u,  z-oi,  zou. 

a-ng,  e-ng,  i-ng,  o-ng,  u-ng, — ch-a,  ch-e,  ch-i,  ch-o,  ch-u,  ch-oi, 

ch-ou. 
a-sh,  e-sh,  i-sh,  o-sh,  u-sh, — sh-a,  sh-e,  sh-i,  sh-o,  sh-u,  sh-oi 

sh-ou. 


6Q  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

a-tli,  e-th,   i-th,  o-tli,  u-th, — th-a,  tli-e,  th-i,  th-o,  th-u,  th-oi, 

th-oii. 
a-th^  Q'th^  i-th.,  o-th,  u-th, — th-a,  th-e^  th-\,  th-o^  th-u,  th-oi,  th-ou, 
a-x,  e-x,  i-x,  o-x,  u-x, — a-x,  e-x,  i-x,  o-x,  u-x,  oi-a?,  ou-a*. 
a-zh,  e-zh,  i-zh,  o-zh,  u-zh, — zh-a,  zh-e,  zli-i,  zh-o,  zh-u,  zh-oi, 

zh-ou. 
a-j,  e-j,  i-j,  o-j,  u-j,— j-a,  j-e,  j-i,  j-o,  j-u,  j-oi,  j-ou. 
h-a,  h-e,  h-i,  h-o,  h-u,  h-oi,  h-ou, — w-a,  w-e,  w-i,  w-o,  w-u, 

w-oi,  w-ou. 
y-a,   y-e,  y-i,  y-o,  y-u,  y-oi,  y-ou,— wh-a,  wh-e,  wh-i,   wh-o 

wh-Ti,  wh-oi,  wh-ou. 


COMBINATIONS  OF  THE  CONSONANTS. 

Bd. — e55W,  sohVd, — Prejudices  are  often  imVihed  from  cus- 
tom. 

Bdst. — proSW.s^,  staWdst,  roWdst. — Then  thou  ■pYoh''dst  the 
wound  which  now  has  healed. 

Bl. — Me,  Mow,  huhhle,  noble. — Why  should  gold  man's  fee&Ze 
mind  decoy  ? 

Bid. — disa&Z'^,  doulPd,  ireiRbVd. — 'Tis  hut  the  fahrd  land- 
scape of  a  lay. 

Bldst. — treml)rdst,h.oI)brdst. — Thou  tremhVdst  then,  if  never 
since  that  day. 

Biz. — Bubbles,  -pebbles,  nobles. — The  heart  benevolent  and 
kind  the  most  resembles  God. 

Blst. — hum&Z's^j  tvoubPst. — Hence  !  thou  troubrst  me  with  vain 
requests. 

Br. — Brave,  bright,  freeze. — Ocean's  &road  breast  was  covered 
with  his  fleet. 

Bz. — Robes,  ribs,  webs. — They  bowed  like  shraSs  beneath  the 
poison  blast. 

Bst. — Robust,  vobb'st. — With  no  gentle  hand  thou  prob'^st  their 
wounds. 

Bl, — ha.ndle,  ladle,  meddle.— The  brazen  trumpets  Wndle  rage 
no  more. 

Did. — bricZZ'^,  paddrd. — Thy  mind  once  kindrd  with  each 
passing  thought. 


DIFFICULT   COMBINATIONS.  67 

Didst, — \i2indVdst^  iondVdst. — Stung  by  the  viper  thou  fon- 

dVdst  when  young. 
Dls. — HancZZcs,   hmidles. — Man   seems  the   only  growth  that 

di'Nmdles  here. 
List. — kin^Z's^,  ^^SiddVst. — In  thine  upward  flight  thou  dwin- 

dVst  to  a  speck. 
Dn, — gold'n^  ]£Ld''n^  leaden. — Angels  drop  on  their  gol^'w  harps 

a  pitying  tear. 
Dnd^  ssid^n''d,  hurd^Ti^d. — Death  never  sa^ZVcZ  your  scenes  of 

bloom. 
Dns, — GartZ'/zs,  ward''ns. — Our  hearts  are  eased  of  burcZ^7?s  hard 

to  bear. 
Dr, — i^rop,  dress^  drive. — The  dread  beat  of  the  ^?'um  broke 

the  iZreamer's  sleep. 
Dst. — D'ldst^  hadst^  Siddst. — Thou  bid^Zs^  the  shades  of  dark- 
ness fly. 
Dth. — width,  hresidth. — The  width  of  the  stream  again  dis- 
mayed him. 
Lths.—hvexdtJis^  widths. — It  took  four  hvesidths  of  cloth  to 

make  the  cloak. 
Dz. — bu^5,  wee^Zs,  odds. — These  sha^Z^s  are  the  s^hodes  of  un- 

dissemble<]  gladness. 
DzJi. — 'Eidge^  lodge,  image, — Oh,  for  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wil- 
derness. 
Dzhd. — \\\\ag''d,    ^edg^d. — Their  winglets   are  hedged  in  the 

sun's  hot  rays. 
Fl. — i^Zay,  fieeee,  /Zow. — At  every  tri^e  scorn  to  take  offence. 
Fid, — xijVd,  haffl^d, — The  war  drum  is  mxvffied,  and  black  is 

the  bier. 
Fldst. — tri^'<i.s'^,   ^i\fl'dst. — Now   tell  me   how    thou  hnffi-dst 

thine  enemy. 
Flz. — rifles,  hajies,  ruffles. — Not  to   know   some  tri^^^  is  a 

praise. 
Fist  — stifl'st,  shufff'st,  hafffst. — Thou  trij^'s^  with  what  is  not 

thine  own. 
Fn. — atiff^n  offn,  so/'/i. — Here  shall  the  billows   B>tiff''n  and 

have  rest. 
Fnd, — sof^n'd,  deaf^n^d, — The  woods  are  deafhi'^d  with  the 

roar. 


68  VOICE    AND   ACTION, 

Fnz. — sojTns,  stiffens.— Truth  so/'tis  the  heart  with  its  simple 

tones. 
-Fr.— ;/*rame, /riend,  refresh. — Labor  is  but  re/reshment /rom 

repose. 
Fs. — Whijfs,  pu^s,  laughs. — Mortals,  on  hfe^s  later  stage,  still 

grasp  at  wealth. 
Fst.^-puff^st,  iQMgtvst. — Tliou  scoffht  at  Virtue's  homely  joys. 
Ft. — iyf%  soft^  wnft. — Oft  from  ap[)arent  ill  our  blessings  rise. 
Fth. — fi/i^A,  twelfth. — For  the  ^/th  time  I  called  in  vain. 
Fts. — lifts^  r Sifts,  wnfts. — Death   lifts   the  veil   that  hides  a 

brighter  sphere. 
Ftst. — \ysftst,  Iftst. — O'er  the  desert  drear  thou  weffst  thy 

wa«te  perfume. 
Qd. — Begged,   rigged. — The  very  elements   are  leSigued  with 

death. 
Gdst. — hrsigg^dst,  (lragg''d8t. — Thou  hegg^dst  in  vain  the  her- 
mit's blessing  then. 
Gl. — ^Zeam,   ^Zove,   eagle. — Through  ^Zades  and  ^?ooms  the 

min^Zing  measures  stole. 
Gld, — struggPd,  hsLggFd. — He  gazed  enraptured  on  the  span- 

^M  canopy. 
Gldst. — S'mgrdst. — How  thou  mmgVdst  life  and  death. 
Gh. — eagles,  juggles. — I   have  roamed   where  the  hill  foxes 

howl,  and  eagles  cry. 
Gist. — m'mgVst,  struggPst, — Thou  struggVst,  as  life  upon  the 

issue  hung. 
Gr. — grow,  gr\'p,  grief. — The  proves  of  Eden  yet  look  ^reen 

in  song. 
Gz. — lo^.9,  fi^s,  dre^s. — The  fibherman  drags  to  the  shore  his 

ladeii'd  nets. 
Gst. — hegg^st,  digg^st. — Thou  hegg''st  in  vain,  no  pity  melts 

his  heart. 
JTl. —  C^^ing,  cliff,  cloYe. — The  sea  gems  sparZ;?^  in  the  depths 

below. 
Kid. — spar^Z'<^,  circZ'<^. — Grim-visaged  war  hath  smoothed  his 

wrin^Ze^Z  front. 
KldM. — huelcVdst,  circVdst. — Star,  that  tw'mJcrdst  on  the  shep- 
herd's path. 
Flz. — spar^Z^s,    circZ^s. — Time  writes    no   wrinJcles  on  thine 

azure  brow. 


DIFFICULT   COMBIN"ATIONS.  69 

Kht. — spar^rsi^,  frecHsH. — Thoii  sparM^st  like  a  gem  of  earth. 
ITfi. — toFn^   deac'?i,   fale-n, — By  the   storms   of  circumstance 

unsha^'/i. 
Knd. — wsJchi-d^  dar^'Ti'^Z. — With  c^niGkened  step  brown  night 

retires. 
Kndst. — blac^'/z'^s^,  hearFriWs^. — Thou  hQo.vlc'n'dst  not  when 

wisdom  bade  thee  heed. 
Km. — toWns^  ialc^m^  thic^'^is. — Mist  ^o.v'kens  the  mountain, 

night  diSixlcens  the  vale. 
Knst. — \)Qc¥rCst^  waFii^st. — Thou   awa^'?^'s^  there  a  warmer 

sympathy. 
Kr. — ZtTaken,   crime. — There   crystal    streams  with  jjleasiug 

murmurs  creep. 
Ks. — oa^'5,  sticZ^s,  roc^5. — Ye  mouldering  relics   of  departed 

years. 
Kst. — shaFs^,  way^'s^,  nea;^. — Many   a  holy  tea;^  around  she 

strews. 
JTsth. — sixth  sixth. — Henry  the  sixth  bids  thee  despair. 
Kt. — sec^,  wa^'^,  vocFd, — He  waJced  at  the  vessel's   sudden 

roll, 
Kts. — act?,  secfs,  respects. — It  gilds  all  objects  but  it  alters 

none. 
Ktst, — ac^'^f^,  liM''st. — Thou  ac^'s^  the  manly  part. 
Lh. — buZ6,  Elbe,  Albert^  fi^^ert. — The  river  E^5c  glides  gently. 
Lbz. — bulbs. — The  hulbs  have  taken  root. 
Ld. — gild,  field,  mild. — He  toiled  and  moiZc<:^  each  day. 
Ldz. — ^qMs,  folds,  wilds. — It  gilds  the  mountain's  brow. 
Ldst. — \\oldht,  shieWst. — Thou  yieli^st  to  fate  without  a  sigh. 
Z/. — Se^,  woZ/,  gn^. — 0  how  self  fettered  is  the  grovelling 

sonl. 
Z/s. — sjlphs,  gulfs,  elfs. — It  is  the  wolfs  dreary  cave. 
X/t— inguZ/'cZ.— The  lake  is  inguZ/''t^amid  the  hills. 
Lfth. — twe.(/i^^.— Skakspeare's  twelfth  night. 
Ldzh. — induZ^c,  hilge. — InduZ^c  no  useless  wish. 
Ldzhd. — indu/^'c/,  bilged. — He  iui\ulged  his  wit  and  lost  his 

friend. 
LTc. — olh,  xnilTc^  buZ^,  siZ^'. — List  to  the  miZ/tinaid's  song. 
Lies. — sillcs,  ellcs,  hulTcs. — In  silhs  and  satins  new  we  worship 

in  these  days. 


70  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

Llcst. — millcst. — Thou  millc'st  the  kine  at  early  dawn. 

Lkt. — mSWd, — The  goats  were  vaMlced  at  eve. 

Lm. — EZw,   fi?w,   rea?m. — The  heathen  heel    her  he?m  has 

crushed. 
Lmd. — fdrrid^  whelm'd. — He  was  overwhelmed  with  doubts. 
Lmz. — fi^ms,  resihns. — Films  slow  gathering  dim  the  sight. 
Zmst. — overwheZ?7is^. — Thou     overwheZms^    them    with    the 

whirlwind. 
Zn.—storn,  swoZ'ti. — Even  our  fallen  fortunes  lay  in  light. 
Zp.— heZp,  puZp.— He  shrieked  for  help  in  vain. 
Lps.— pulps,  whelps.     The  alps  have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their 

snowy  scalps. 
Lpst. — scaZ/>'s^,  hQlp''st. — Thou  h^lp'st  me  now  in  vain. 
Lpt. — hQlp''d,  scalp'd. — I  was  the  first  that  heZ^'<^  him. 
Lftst. — helpd'st. — Those  crumbling  piles  thou  help''dst  to  rear. 
Ls. — Yalse,  dulse,  else. — Oft  by  false  learning  is  good  sense  de- 
faced. 
Zst. — Rurst,  ^IVst,  f'dirst.—Life  flutters  conyulsed  in  his  quiv- 
ering limbs. 
Zt. — BoZ^,  guiZ^,  wiZ^. — Misery  is  wed  to  guiZ^. 
Zth. — wealth,  ^Ith,  siQalth. — HeaZ^A  consists  with  temperance 

alone. 
Zths. — healths,   tilths. — In  drinking  heaZ^A*,  men  but  invite 

disease. 
Zts. — boZfe,    melts,   faults. — The  assauZ^«  of   discontent  and 

doubt  repel. 
Ztst, — ^haZ^'s^,  meWst. — Thou  meZ^'s^  with  pity   at  another's 

woes. 
Z/v. — twelve,  valve,  solve. — 0,  fix  thy  firm  resoZ-ye  wisdom  to 

wed. 
Zvd. — iiiYoWd,  resoWd. — "Ro  fate  with  mine  invoZ^'^Z. 
Zvz. — wolves,  elves,  valves. — Man  resoZz;^^,  and  ve-vesolves,  then 

dies  the  same. 
Zvst. — revoZiJS^,   dissoZi's^. — Thou  solv^st  the  problem   at  the 

expense  of  life. 
Zz. — toiZs,   steaZ«,  calls. — Peace  rules  the  day,  when  reason 

rules  the  mind. 
Md. — fii'm''d,  narn^d,  bloomV. — Let  us  keep  the  soul  emba]???^^ 

in  living  virtue. 


DIFFICULT   C03»rBINATI0NS.  71 

Mdst, — illiim'Js^,  'bloom^dst. — Thou  diOorrCdst  thy  victims  to 

death. 
Mf. — nymph^  triumph. — He  has  set  the  triumpA-seah 
Mfs, — nymphs^  tviumpTis. — What  are  man's  tr'mmphs? 
Mft. — iY'mm2oh''d. — Lite's  last  rapture  trium;??^'^  o'er  her  woes. 
Mp. — \)omp. — \mnp. — Througli  the  swa??ip  and  meadow. 
Mps. — lixmps^  lamps. — How  poor  the  \)0mp8  of  earth. 
Ifpst. — tlmmp^st^  dampest. — Thou  darnp^st  their  zeal  already. 
Mz. — gems^  plums,  comes. — Thou  art  freedom's  now  aad  fame's. 
Mst. — doom's^,  seem's^. — How  wretched  thou  seQm''st. 
Mt, — prompt,   contem^^. — Be  ever  -prompt  to  answer  duty's 

call. 
Mts. — tempts,  prompts. — He  tempts  the  perilous  deep  at  dawn. 
Mtst. — tempfst^  prompfst. — Thou  prompfst  the  warrior  now. 
J^d. — end^  iand^  mind. — With  heart  and  hand  together  sta7z<^. 
JSfdz. — ends^    hlends,   bonds. — The    rivulet    sends    forth    glad 

Qounds. 
JSfdst. — hendst,  sendst. — Answer  how  thonfound^st  me? 

is'mg^  long,  ring. — Ding-dong^  ding-dong  \  go  the  bells. 
I^g. —  <  singing^  swinging. — ^xuliing,  trembli/i^,  ragm^,  faint- 

(  ing,  runniTz^,  leaping. 

Ngd. — wrong\l^  winged. — The  snowy  winged  plover. 
jSfgdst. — twang'dstj    wro7ig''dst. — Thou    wrongd^st    thyself   to 

write  in  such  a  case. 
JVgz. — songs^    iangs^    rings. — Peace    scatters    blessi?^^s    from 

dewy  wings. 
Ngst. — B>ing^st,    c\ing''st^  sing'st. — Thou  cling^st  in  vain. 
J^gth. — strength^  length. — He  was  the  proudest  in  his  strength. 
JVgths. — lengths. — Short  views  we  take  nor  see  the   lengths 

behind. 
NgJc. — dv'mJc,  ranJo. — His  dri^i^,  the  crystal  well. 
J^gks. — pvanlcs^  Ijnx. — In  each  low  wind  methi??^s  a  spirit  calls. 
J^gJcst — thanFst^  th'mFst. — O,  deeper  than  thou  thiny^'s^  I  have 

read  thy  heart. 
J^glct. — ra7i^'^,  th.anFd. — He  thaT^^e^  me  for  my  trouble. 
Nglcts. — preeincts. — He  has  left  the  warm  preciTic^s  of  the  cheer- 
ful day. 
N'dzh. — hinge^  range^  innge. — Possessions  vanish  and  opinions 

change. 


*I2  VOICE   AND   ACTIOIS-. 

Kdzhd, — TQYQng^d^  ahang'^d, — The  pine  is  irmg^d  with  a  softer 

green. 
N's.—iQnse^  SQnse^  dance. — In  search  of  wit  some  lose  all  common 

sense. 
JVst. — cixnst,  agsimst. — Give  what  thoii  can'^st. 
Ntsh. — hencTi^  \iiwncJi. — Now  laimc^  the  boat. 
JS'isht. — ]aunch''d^  vivencli'd. — He  wveiiched  the  chain. 
J^t. — ^le?^^,  rsint,  went. — He  went  to  see  money  made  not  S])ent. 
Mth. — tenth^   hjacmtJi. — Few  speak,  wild,  stormy   month,  in 

praise  of  thee. 
J^ths. — tentJis,  hjacmths. — See  the  hysLcmths  m  bloom. 
JVts, — waT^^  tents,  events.— Coming  events  cast  their  shadows 

before. 
JSTtst. — ^liauTi^'s^,  want-st. — Why  hau?i^'s^  thou  the  land. 
I^z. — lens.  m.eans,  vanes. — Slow  and  steady  wins  the  race. 
PI. — -^Zume,  ^Zaid,  plod. — The^Zoughman^Zods  along. 
Fid. — dimpVd,  tvumpVd. — Morn   is  gleaming  in  the   dap^Z'^ 

east. 
Pldst.—tvampld''st,  i^eopWst. — Thou  tram^Z^Z'si^  them  down. 
Plz. — temples,  v\\)ples. — Age  has  on  their  tem^Z^s  shed  her  silver 

frost. 
PJst. — tr&xnpVst,  r\^pV8t. — Thou  tram^Z's^  in  scorn  r,n  the  flower. 
Pn. — deep'^n,  op^n. — His  ears  are  open  to  the  softest  cry. 
Pnd. — op^n''d,  sharp^nd. — There  stands  the  vipen^d  grain. 
Pnz. — shar^'ns,  ophis — The  ceaseless  flow  of  feeling  deepens 

still. 
Pr.— pride,  praise,  ^rint. — Prompt  to   relieve,   the  prisoner 

sings  his  jt?raise. 
Ps. — li^9S,  tvaps^  hops. — Thought  sto^s  and  fancy  droops. 
Pst. — droo^'s^,  ho^'s^. — Thou  wrap^'s^  the  world  in  clouds. 
Pt. — vve^^,  s\ept,tv\pp'' d. — The  clouds  be  few  that  intsrce_^if  the 

light. 
Pis. — prece;9^5,  interce^^s. — Just  precej9^s  are  from  great  exam- 
ples given. 
Ptst  — accepfst,  intercept s^. — Accepfst  thou  in  kindness  the 

favor  ? 
Pth. — depth. — Launch  not  beyc)nd  thy  depth. 
Pths. — depths. — From  tlie  depths  of  air  comes  a  still  voice. 
Pb. — orZ>,  garS,  curZ>,  verb. — Curd,  O  curhthj  headlong  speed. 


DIFFICULT    COMBINATIONS.  73 

JIM<, — disturJ'c?,   garh^d, — No    drums    distur&'^  his  morning 
sleep. 

Ehdst. — oarM^st,   disturb d'st. — Then  thou   Q\irhd''st  thy  mad 
career. 

Ebz. — oris,  ga?'&s,  barJs. — Not  a  breath  disturbs  the  deep  se- 
rene. 

ElsL — QurVst^  obsorVst, — Thou  bar&\s^  the  dart  that  rankles 
sore. 

Rd. — bir^Z,  co7*<^,  h^rd. — ^Embroider^^  sandals  glitterecZ  as  he 
trod. 

Bdz. — hirds^  words,  cords. — Silver  cords  to  earth  have  bound 
me. 

Edst. — regar^'s^,  rewa^'cZ's^. — Thou  rewai'd^st  the  evil  and  the 
good. 

Ef. — Turf  J  serf,  dwarf — Every  tuT^  beneath  their  feet. 

Efs. — serfs  J  dwarfs, — When  dwar^^  and  pigmies  shall  to  giants 
rise. 

Eg. — iceberg. — The  iceberg'  has  sealed  their  fate. 

Egs. — iceberp's. — In    polar    seas   where   icebergs   have   their    v 
home. 

Edzh. — lofrge,  urge. — Toward  the  Ycrge  sweeps  the  wide  tor- 
rent. 

Edzhd. — scourg''dj  urg'^d. — Like  the  slave  scour^e^  to  his  dun- 
geon. 

Eh — dar^,  lar^,  wor^. — Kise  with  the  laryfc,  and  with  the  lar^ 
to  bed. 

Ehs. — mar^s,  bar^s,  \nrhs. — Hemar^s  their  tracks  in  the  snow. 

EJcst, — \\orh''st,  msLrFst. — MarFst  thon,  my  son,  yon  forester  ? 

EJct. — InrFdj  worFd. — For  this  he  worFd,  for  this  forsook  his 
bed. 

EJcdst — bar^'^^,  lurJc'dst. — Of  yore  thou  lur^'^s^  in  caverns. 

El* — curZ,  snarZ,  pear?. — There   the  pearZ-shells  spangle  the 
flinty  snow. 

Eld. — w'orld,  CMrVd,  iwrVd. — Round  his  head  the  war-cloud 
curled. 

Eldst. — inrld^st,   \i\xrld''$t. — Thou  Imrldht  the   spear  in  tri- 
umph. 

Eldz. — worlds — What  are  worlds  of  wealth  ? 

Eh. — pearls,  curls,  snarZs.— rThey  are  glittering  pear&. 
4 


Y4  VOICE    AND   ACTION, 

Rht. — CMrVst^  furVst. — Again  thou  nnfur^s^  thy  wings. 
Bm. — arm,  warm,  har?7^. — Arm,  arm  /  and  haste  to  hattle. 
B^nd. — arm^dj  harm'(^. — Armed,  armed  say  you  ? 
Rmdst. — harnt'dst,  wmrm^^dst. — Thou  a.rm'^dst  the  hand  that  laid 

thee  low. 
Bmz. — arms,  forms,  storms. — The  surly  storms  are  softened. 
Bmst, — charm's^,  alarm's^. — Thou  charm's^  the  ear  of  man. 
RmtJi. — warmth. — With  honest  warmth  he  met  me. 
Bn. — morw-,  scor/i,   ur/i. — Live,  stung  by  the  scorn  of  thine 

own  bosom. 
Bnd.—hurn'd,  scorri'd. — Warned  by  the  signs,  they  fly  in  haste. 
Endst. — retur7i<^'s^,  warn^dst. — It  is  well  thou  \Qarn''dst  that 

lesson  young. 
Bm. — morns,  urns,  horns. — On  the  golden  wave  the  sunset 

burns  afar. 
Bp. — harp,  warp,  sha?'j9. — Time  is  the  warp  of  life. 
Bps. — harps,  warps,  sharps. — They  sing  to  their  golden  harps. 
Bpt. — warpW,  usurp'<^. — Trade  hath  usurped  the  land. 
Bs. — porse,  scar^j^,  curs^. — ^Fierc^  to  the  breach  they  sprang. 
Bsh. — harsh*  Tciarsh. — O'er  marsA  and  moor. 
Bst.—  ^rst,  worst,  hurst. — There  came  a  burs^  of  thunder. 
Bsts. — bursas.— -A  flood  of  glory  bursas  from  all  the  skies. 
Bt. — ar^,  por^,  dir^,  car^. — How  vast  is  ar^,  how  narrow  human 

wit. 
Bts. — ar^  por^  hearts. — The  spores  of  children  satisfy  the 

child. 
Btst. — star^s'^,  hurts' ^. — "With  these  thou  flirts' ^,  and  smil'st. 
Bth, — ear^A,  worth,  forth. — From  this  day  for^A  give  each  his 

worth. 
Bths. — earths,  hearths. — Our  hear^As  shall  brightly  blaze. 
Btsh. — march,   larch. — We  may  resume   the  march    of   our 

existence. 
Btsht. — 9earch''d,  parched. — Pygmies  are  pygmies  still,  though 

■percJied  on  Alps. 
Bv, — ner^^,  star^^,  curi^^. — Swen^^  not  from  duty's  path  how- 
ever rough. 
Biid. — curved,    starv''d. — Life    is    thus    -preserved    and    peace 

restored. 
Bvdst. — starv^dst.  preservd'^st. — Thou  preser^'c^^  his  life. 


DIFFICULT   COMBINATIONS.  75 

Rvz. — neri)5S,  curves.— Then  tlie  firmest  nerves  shall  tremhle. 
E'cst. — nervst^  swervst — I  thank  thee  ;  thou  newest  my  arm. 
I^z. — hars,  stars,  wears. — We  leap  at  stars,  and  fasten  in  the 

mnd. 
Sf. — sphere^  sphjnx. — The  freed  soul  soars  beyond  this  little 

sphere. 

ay    J  sA?'ill,  shrink. — The  bat  sArill  sArieking  flies  away. 

I  sArine,  sAriek. — ^And  freedom  sArieked  as  Kosciusko 
fell. 

Sh. — 6'Hll,  sZ^ip. — It  is  a  land  unscathed  by  scorching  tear. 

SJcr. — ^screen,    scribe. — Across  the   wiry  edge    he    drew    the 
screaking  file. 

Shs. — des7i:s,  tasA's. — He  asiks  no  more  than  is  right. 

SJcst. — as/tj's^,  basy^s't. — AsFst  thou  to  whom  belongs  this  val- 
ley fair  ? 

>S^^^. — asFd.  hasFd. — He  risFd  his  own,  another's  life  to  save. 

SI. — sZime,  whistle, — Slow  tolls  the  village  clock. 

Sld.-^whistVd,  nestVd, — The  loud  blast  whis^M  shrill. 

Sh, — nestles^  this^Zcs. — The  grass  rustles  drearily  over  his  urn. 

Slst. — rustls^t^  nestrst. — Thou  wvesiFst  singly  with  the  gale. 

Sm. — smile,  s??zoke. — The  smooth  stream  now  smoother  glides. 

Sn. — S7Z0W,  pers'^. — The  moonlight  sleeps  upon  the  snow, 

Snd, — ]ess'?^'^,  Wsfn'd, — He  lis^^ncf^  to  the  music. 

Snz. — Wsfns^  persVs. — How  the  eye  of  beauty  glis^CTzs. 

Snst. — less'?^'s^,  has^'Ti's^. — Onward  thou  hSiSten'st  home. 

Sp, — s^jan,  speed,  spar. — >Sport  leaped  up  and  seized  his  beechen 
spear. 

S]pl. — sp?een,  splendid. — The  spZendor  of  such  siglits. 

Spr, — sprsij^  spring,  sprig. — In  /(Spring's  footsteps  sprang  her- 
bage and  flowers. 

Sps. — grasps,  lisps,  clasps. — The  youthful  ivy  clasps  the  oak. 

Spt. — clasp W,  grasped. — ^Pope  lisp'c?  in  numbers,  for  the  num- 
bers came. 

St, — s^and,  sfop,  star. — Hasif  thou  a  charm  to  s^ay  the  morning " 
s^ar? 

Str, — scroll,  strive,  sfrong. — They  have  s^rown  the  dust  on  the 
sunny  brow. 

Sts. — mis^s,  tastes,  coasts. — All  things  seem  large  which  we 
through  misifs  descry. 


76  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

Stst. — ^tas^'^^,  YistsH. — Now,  with  what   awe  thou  lis^'st  the 

wild  uproar. 
TTin. — l^n^Wn^  streng^A'n. — Who  Avould  lengthen  life  ? 
Thnd, — iQn^tKn'd^  stvengtJi'n'd. — These  proclaim  my  lengt7i'''n/d 

years. 
Thndst. — iQngWn'dst^  QtvQugWrCdst. — Palsied  is  the  arm  thou 

streng^A'TiWs^. 
Tlmz. — streng^y^'715,  iQngWns. — He  lengWns  the  hour,  in  vain. 
Ths. — you^As,  fai^A^. — You^A's  briglit  hours  are  fleeting. 
Tht. — betro;fA'(^.— She    was   early   ^^QivoWd    to  a  Highland 

Chief. 
Thr, — tJirob^  throne,  thriWt — Soft  as  the  ^Arill  that  memory 

j^Arows  across  the  soul. 
Thd. — brea^A'^j  sooWd,  haWd. — They  shea^A^^  their  swords 

for  lack  of  argument. 
Thz, — hsitJies,  tithes,  ^aths. — The  ysi>ths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the 

grave. 
That. — smooths^t,  writh'^st. — O  guilt!   thou  hsith^st  the  world 

in  tears. 
Thdst, — smooth''dst,   writh''d8t — Thou    smooth'dst    his  lonely 

brow. 
TL— title,  csittlQ,  rattle. — The  reef-points  rat^?^  on  the  sail. 
Tld, — rat^r^,   ti^^^. — He  prat^Ze^Z   less,    in    accents  void  of 

guile. 
Tldst. — rat^Z'^s^,  star^Z'^s^. — Thou   star^^^s^    the    slumbering 

tenants. 
Tlz. — litles,  turtles,  hsittles. — How   the  blood  man^Z^s  in  his 

cheek. 
Tlst. — star^r^^,   rat^Z's^. — The  wild  deer  thou  star^?s^  in  the 

shade. 
Tn. — liitVn,  mitfn,  hutfn. — Hew  blessings  brighifd?i  as  they 

take  their  flight. 
Tnd. — whi^VdJ,  sweef  tiW. — The  snow  now  whiten''d  the  earth. 
Tnz. — whY t^ns,  sweefns. — Thy  mercy  sweef t^s  the  cup  of  woe. 
Tr. — trihQ,  ^read,  ^rade. — Time's  giddy  arch  with  trembling 

foot  we  ^read. 
Tsh. — cAarm,  cAime,  cAurch. — Youth  is  not  ricA  in  time. 
Tsht, — toucAW,  waitch''d. — Hence  have  I  watched  while  others 

slept. 


DIFFICULT   COMBINATIONS.  77 

TsJist. — snatcTi'dst. — Thou  tonch^dst  his  wounded  heart. 

Ts. — ba^s,  roo^5,  hats. — Ten  censure  wrong,  for  one  who  wri^^a 

amiss. 
J'st. — sitt'st^  shou^'si. — Once  on  Phyle's  brow  thou  sat^'s^. 
Vd. — \Wd,  lov^d^  sav^d. — He  sav^d  thy  life. 
Ydst. — lovhlst^  mv^dst. — Thou  de-prw^dst  me  of  all. 
yi^ — e^'Z,  sho^'Z,  hov'?. — Their  hopes  still  grovel  on  this  earth. 
Vld.—shovHrd     shvw''lVd. — It  seared  and  shriv^ U'd  up    his 

heart. 
Ylst. — shovTst^  shrivTs^. — Thou  xinravH^st  the  very  threads 

of  being. 
Vldst. — vavHVdst. — Thou  unra'yVZ'«i's^  the  yarn. 
Viz. — e^^'Zs,  shriy'Zs. — So  shri'yVs  the  leaf  in  the  Autumn  blast. 
Vn. — se?;'7i,  driv'/i,  crav'?i. — Thy  bonds  are  vimn, 
Vtiz. — raij'm',  hea?;'7is. — YLQQ.ven's  sapphire  arch  is  its  resplen- 
dent dome. 
Yntli. — olQv'^ntli^  seventh, — You  came  at  the  eleventh  hour. 
Vz, — wa^^s,    gro^^65,    leai^^s. — The    groves    were    God's    first 

temples. 
Vst. — moy's^,  raij's^,  pro^j's^. — Weigh   well  thy  words  before 

thou  givsH  them  breath. 
Zd. — gnz'^d^  rais'iZ,  us'^d. — Sudden  he  gazed,  but  knew  not  what 

to  do. 
Zl. — hae'Z,  dazzle,  pwzzle. — It  is  a  pwzzle  indeed. 
Zld. — dazzVd,  -puzzPd, — My  eyes  are  da^^M  with  the  flame. 
Zldst. — dazzrdst,  -puzzVdst, — Thou  -j^uzzPdst  the  brain  of   the 

sage. 
Zlst. — pus^r^^,  dazzVst. — Thou  dazzVst  the  eye  with  thy  rays. 
Zlz — hazVs,  ipuzzPs. — He  puzzles  over  a  doubt. 
Zm.— prism,  chasm. — The  sky  shone  through  the  fearful  chasm, 
Zmz. — prisTTz^,  chas7?25. — The  billows  sink  to  chiasms  low. 
Zn, — blas'Ti,  crims'Ti. — He  sinks  on  the  frozen  ground. 
Znd, — hlaz'rCd,  crims'7^'^. — It  is  hlazoned  forth  to  all. 
Znz. — seas'iis,  bla^'?w. — Thou  hast  all  sensons  for  thine  own. 
Znst. — reas'nst,  hlaz^nst — How  well  thou  reasorCst^  then. 


78 


VOICE    AND    ACTION. 


Bu-Z5, 

«2?^-ere, 

mo-?//, 

Ga-rb, 

iceberg, 

les-6''w, 

Vro-b'd, 

(t.hj 

wiit-^'?i, 

Ahso-rh^d^ 

be-7zcA, 

se-y'?i, 

Be-gg'd, 

ma-rs^, 

ivo-zn, 

Be]o-7ig^d^ 

c/i-arm, 

hQ-lp, 

(dzhd) 

ma-rcA, 

:>o-mp, 

Ima-^'6^, 

wi-dth, 

la-rp, 

(Idzhd) 

i\-fth, 

sp-aii. 

Bi-lg'd, 

twe-lfth, 

dr-Sive, 

(ndzhd) 

Vi^Q'd-lth, 

^r-eam, 

Bsi-ng^d, 

^Si-rmth, 

/r-own, 

Vv-g% 

]e-ngt7i, 

^r-een, 

Go-Id, 

tQ-7lt7l, 

sAr-ine, 

Trem-hVd, 

de-pth, 

cr-ime, 

Vad-dld, 

lio-rth, 

scr-een, 

mn-grd, 

si-xtJi, 

jpr-ide, 

Twin-Wd, 

mdulge, 

5pr-ain, 

Dim-prdj 

YSL-nge, 

^r-ibe, 

-Wo-rld, 

hsi-rge, 

8tr-\ye, 

(sld) 

s\-lk, 

thr-o\% 

^hi-stPd, 

tha-n^, 

P"-/s, 

Bai-tVd, 

marJcy 

gu-?/5, 

Shri-'y'Z'^Z, 

tsi-slc, 

triu-77?jt?y^s, 

Bwz-zVd, 

dl-md, 

dwa-r/«, 

Na-wiW, 

cva-dle, 

tru-^As, 

Whe-Zm'^, 

/-oor, 

brea-^^As, 

Fo-rm^ 

gl-OYQ, 

bea-Z^As, 

La-w<i, 

twm-Me, 

mo-ni^A^, 

Har-^'7^'^, 

joZ-an, 

le-ngths, 

Dea-/'7^, 

5^Z-endid, 

de-j^ths, 

Dea-/'7^'t?, 

fu-rZ, 

hea-rths, 

Vfa-k'n'd, 

sZ-eep, 

oa-^'5, 

^hdiV- p'ri'd, 

gen-i^/6, 

si-Z^ 

W-A-r'n'd, 

sho-'y'Z, 

iha-n]cs, 

Les-«'7i'^, 

claz-s^ 

ma-r^s, 

Whi-fn'd, 

rea-Zw, 

de-sZ:s, 

Leiig-Wn''d, 

wa-rm, 

pu-Zsd, 

B\a-z'n'd, 

sw-ile, 

de-7is^, 

Gna-r^Z, 

rljy-i^Am, 

W-ps, 

Pro-'y'cZ, 

pri-s??^, 

whe-lpSy 

Beso-lv^d, 

la-^'^, 

Ih-mps, 

StsL-rv'd, 

dea-/X 

ha-rps, 

Ga  ^'^, 

leng-^A'Ti, 

lisps, 

Brea-^A'cZ, 

hea-(fA'7i, 

ho-rse, 

She-?/; 

to-yI;'n, 

foo-ts, 

Trium-i?A, 

sto-Z'/i, 

tu-fts, 

Tu-r/, 

shar-^'/i, 

isL-cts, 

me-lts, 
■pro-mpts, 

QYQ-ntS, 

-prt  c\-ncts, 

jire-cepts, 

da-rts, 

mists, 

ih\-rsts, 

so-ft, 

mgu-lf'd, 

tvium-ph^d^ 

lau-wcA'^, 

Um-ch^d, 

ru'd-rch'^dy 

fsi-ct, 

m\-Wd, 

thsi-nFd, 

msi-rFd, 

ha.sJc'^d, 

(mt) 
pro-mpt, 
wsi-nt, 
hn-rnt, 
he-pt, 
he-Ip^d, 
wa-rp^d, 
Wsp^d, 
pa-r^, 
st-ee], 
pro-&'5#, 

d'l-dst, 

pro-&'t?s^, 

\)e-gg''dst, 

g\-ld''st, 

trem-hV  dst, 

hri-dPst, 

tvi-JVdst, 

rmu-gVdst, 

tv^'m-lcVdst^ 

irSiTR-pVdsty 

CMV-rVdsty 

(sldst) 
rxLstrdst, 
star -trdst, 
daz-zld\<(ty 
sho-vH^dst, 


DIFFICULT   C0MBi:SATI01fS. 


19 


see-m'dst^ 
wa-rm\lst^ 

dQ'd-f'n'dst, 

wro-ng''d''st, 
stveng-th^Ti'dst, 
tM-rn'dst^ 
(sndst) 
li-st^n^dsty 
resi-s^n'*dst^ 
lo-'c'dst^ 
QQ-rvhlst^ 
Tewsi-rd''st, 

ingu-Jfst, 
trin-mp  h''st, 
he-gg'st, 
hri-ng^st, 

indu-lg^stj 
u-rg^st^ 
awa-^'6'^, 
m\-Wst^ 

wh\-lst, 

hnm-'bVst, 

fon-dVst, 


vnm-gVat^ 

spar-^Z'6'^, 

tvQiUi-pVst^ 

fu-rl'st, 

ru-strsf, 

StSLY-Wst, 

sho-vT  st, 
daz-zPstj 
see-m's^, 
whe-lrri'st^ 

shar-p^n''st, 
velvi-rnsty 
(snst)  • 
li-sfTi'st, 
leng-tJi' 71^  sty 
rea-s'?^'s^, 
ho-p^st^ 
hG-lp\st, 
thu-mp''8fy 
wa-rp^sty 
li-sp'st, 
wo-rst^ 
shon-fsty 
h-ft's% 
to\x-cli' dsty 
ensi-cfst, 
im-Wdst, 
lu-rFdstj 
me-lfsty 


(mtst) 
-pvo-mpt^st, 
wa-nfst^ 
ticce-pfst^ 
h.Q-lp''dsty 
fLi-rfst, 
enli-sfst^ 
hu-rsfsty 
lo-v^st, 

YQSO-lv^St, 

-presG-rv^st^ 
(tilt) 
hetro-Wdj 
twe-lve^ 
ne-rve, 

hn-lbs, 
o-rbs^ 

dGG-dSy 

^Q-lds^ 

wo-rlds, 

e-ndSy 

wsi-rds, 

ba-^s, 

icQhQ-rgs, 

trou-JZes, 

yad-dles, 

rnf-Jles, 

GSi-gles, 

s])ar-MeSj 

tGm-pleSy 


mus-cleSj 
t\-tles, 
(viz) 
G-vils, 
-pnz-zleSy 
ti-mes^ 
ovGvwhe-lms, 

logari-^Ams, 
-pri-smSy 
de-ns, 
ri-ngs, 

(dnz) 
wsLV-d^ns, 
dea-fns, 

les-s'?i5, 

streng-^A'7i5, 

m\t-V7iSy 

rea-s'n^, 
wa-rs, 
(vz) 
gi-ves^ 
^liG-lveSy 
cn-rves^ 
hresi-thes, 


Kigidlj  practice  upon  these  exercises  until  a  distinct  articu- 
lation is  acquired. 


80  VOICE  AND  actio:n^. 

ANALYSIS  OF  THE  SIMPLE  AND  COMBINED 
SOUNDS. 

Give  each  letter  as  it  naturally  sounds  in  the  particular  word. 

Obscure  sound — short,     y  not  like  e,  but  i  short, 
a,  e,  i,  o,  Uj  y, — obscure. 

a-m-i-a-b-i-l-i-t-y,  b-ii-r-b-u-r-i-t-y,  o-p-u-1-e-n-t-l-y, 

e-v-e-n-t-f-ii-1,  a-1-t-e-r-a-b-l-y,  p-ii-b-l-i-s-h-e-r, 

i-d-e-n-t-i-c-a-l-l-y,  a-c-ti-m-i-n-a-t-e-d,  b-^-l-l-f-i-n-c-h, 

o-p-a-1-e-s-c-e-n-t,  f-oo-l-i-s-h-l-y,  c-ou-n-t-e-n-a-n-ge, 

u-t-i-1-i-t-a-r-i-a-n,  a-d-o-r-n-i-ng,  o-r-n-a-m-e-n-t, 

DIFFICULT   OOMBmA^TIONS. 

p-r-o-b'"d-s-t,  b-i-d-d'-s-t,  d-r-a-g-g'-d-s-t, 

t-r-e-m-b-l'-d-s-t,       h-u-n-d-r-e-d-th-s,      m-i-ng-l-'d-s-t, 

z 

b-u-b-b-l'-s,  a-b-o-d'-s,  j-u-g-g-P-s, 

e-m-b-r-oi-1,  b-a-f-f-l'-d-s-t,  s-t-r-u-g-g-l's-t, 

w-e-b-s — r-i-b-s,  r-i-f-1's,  e-n-g-r-a-ve, 

r-o-b-b-s'-t,  s-t-i-f-l'-s-t,  1-o-g-s — b-o-g-s, 

s 

f-l-e-d-g'-d,  s-o-f-t'-n'-d,  c-i-r-c-le, 

z 

f-0-n-d-r-s-t,  s-t-i-f-f-n-s,  t-w-i-n-k-l'-d'-s-t, 

z 

b-u-n-d-P-s,  r-e-f-r-e-s-h,  s-p-a-r-k-l'-s, 

4  f 

k-i-n-d-l'-s-t,  1-a-u-gh-s-t,  c-i-r-c-l'-s-t, 

g-o-l-d'-n,  w-a-f-t-e-d,  t-o-k'n, 

g  a-r-d'-n-s,  f-i-f-th,  h-ea-r-k-n'-d-s-t, 

d-r-Sa-d-f-u-1,  l-i-f-t'-s-t,  f-a-l-c'-n-s, 


DIFFICULT    COMBIjS^ATIONS.  81 


W-a-k'-n'-s-t, 

b-o-l-t-e-d, 

1-e-n-t, 

I-n-c-r-ea-se, 

h-ea-1-t-li-s, 

t 
l-au-n-cli'-d, 

a-g-ai-n-s-t, 

0-a-k-s, 

m-e-l-t'-s-t, 

S-p-ea-k'-s-t, 

i-n-v-o-l-v'-d, 

t-e-n-tb-s, 

S-i-x-th, 

X 

w-o-l-v'-s, 

w-a-n-t'-s-t, 

4                 t 

R-o-ck-d— r-a-k'-d, 

r-e-v-o-l-v'-s-t, 

g-1-e-n-s, 

L-i-k-d^-s-t, 

b-a-ll-s, 

p-eo-p-l'-d, 

B-u-1-b-s, 

b-l-oo-m'-d-s-t, 

t-r-a-m-p-l'-d'-s-t, 

G-i-1-d-e-d, 

t-r-i-u-m-pb'-s-t, 

r-i-p-p-l'-s, 

r-o-l-d-s, 

t 
t-r-i-u-m-pb'-d-s-t, 

s-c-r-u-p-l'-s-t, 

H-o-l-d-s-t, 

s-w-a-m-p'-s-t, 

sh-a-r-p'-n'-d'-s-t, 

G-u-1-f-s, 

2 

g-e-m-s, — t-o-mb-s, 

o-p'-n-s, 

I-n-g-u-1-f-d, 

s-ee-m'-s-t, 

e-m-p-r-e-s-s, 

T-w-e-l-f-th, 

p-r-o-mp'-t-s-t, 

s-t-o-p-s, 

I_n-d-u-l-g'-d, 

Z                        r          * 

1-a-n-d-s, — e-n-d-s, 

d-r-oo-p'-s-t, 

M-i-l-k'-s-t, 

s-e-n-d'-s-t, 

r-a-p-t, 

M-u-1-c-t, 

s-i-ng-i-ng, 

i-n-t-e-r-c-e-p-t'-s-t, 

0-  v-e-r- w  h  -e-l-m'd, 

s-o-ng-s, 

d-e-p-tb-s, 

r-i-1-m-s, 

r-i-ng-s-t, 

b-a-r-b'-d'-s-t, 

W-h-e-1-m-s-t. 

]-e-ng-th-s, 

o-r-b-s, 

S-t-o-r-n, 

tli-i-n-k'-s-t, 

a-b-s-o-r-b'-s-t, 

H-e-l-p-s't, 

ng          t 

r-a-n-k-d-s-t, 

a-b-s-n-r-d, 

H-e-l-p'-d'-s-t, 

j 
h-i-ii-g'-d, 

c-o-r-d-s, 

R-o'-l-r-s-t, 

t-S-n-se, 

r-e-g-a-r-d'-s-t, 

4* 


82  VOICE   A]S"D   ACTION. 

s-e-r-f-s,  p-r-e-s-e-r-v'-d-s-t,  s-t-r-e-ng-tli'-n-s, 

u  s 

i-c-e-b-e-r-g-s,  c-u-r-v-e-s,  f-a-i-th'-s, 

e-n-l-a-r-g'-d,  p-r-e-s-e-r-v'-s-t,  b-e-t-r-o-tlj'-d, 

2 

b-a-r-k-s'-t,  s-t-a-r-s — s-t-i-r-s,  th-r-o-b'-d-s-t, 

t 

b-a-l-k'-d-s-t,  s-ph-e-r-e,  b-r-e-a-th'-d-s-t, 

u  3 

w-o-r-l-d-s,  sh-r-i-11 — sh-r-i-ne,  p-a-t-h-s, 

wh-e-n — wh-a-t,         sh-r-a-n-k  sh-r-i-ve  t-r-e-m-b-le, 

c-u-r-l'-s-t,  s-c-r-e-a-m-i-ng,  ch-a-r-m, 

a  t 

s-n-a-r-l-s,  b-a-s-k'-s-t,  w-a-t-ch'-d-s-t, 

t 

a-1-a-r-ra-s,  r-i-s-k'-d,  sb-ou-t-s-t, 

ch-a-r-m-d'-s-t,  wh-i-s-t-F-d,  s-a-v'-d-st, 

f-o-r-m'-s-t,  m-u-s-c-1-e-s,  r-a-v'-l-P-d-s-t. 

—        —  2 

w-a-r-m-th-s,  n-e-s-t-l'-s-t,  sb-o-v'-l-s-t, 

h-o-r-n-s,  s-m-i-1-e,  e-v-i-1-s, 

2 

r-e-t-u-r-n-d-s-t,  p-e-r-s'-n,  b-e-a-v-e-n-s,  . 

2 

s-c-o-r-n-s-t,  l-e-s-s-n'-d-s-t,  e-l-e-v-e-n-th, 

sb-a-r-p-s,  l-i-s-t-n'-s-t,  w-a-v-e-s, 

t 

h-a-r-p'-d-s-t,  s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d,  ra-o-v'-s-t, 

h-o-r-s-e,  s-p-r-i-ng-i-ng,  e-x-p-o-s'-d, 

m-a-r-sh,  g-r-a-s-p'-s-t,  d-a-z-z-l'-d-s-t, 

t 

b-u-r-s-t'-s-t,  c-l-a-s-p'-d,  p-u-z-z-l'-s-t, 

z 

s-t-a-r-t'-s-t,  n-o-t-i-c'-d,  m-u-z-z-F-s, 

2  * 

b-e-a-r-tb-s,  m-i-n-s-t-r-e-1-s,  cb-a-s-m-s, 

u  t  t 

s-e-a-r-cb'-d-s-t,  e-n-l-i-s-t'-s-t,  b-1-a-z-o-n-s, 


EEADIXG   BY    SOUNDS.  83 

t 

o-r-i-m-s-o-n'-d-s-t,    r-a-tt-l'-d-s-t,  m-i-tt'-n-s, 

r-e-a-s-o-n-s-t,  m-a-n-t-le-s,  h-ow-e-v-e-r, 

s-m-oo-th-s-t,  s-w-ee-t'-n'-d,  l-e-ng-th'-n-d-s-t. 

Pronounce  also  daily  from  the  columns  of  a  standard  Dic- 
tionary. Exercises  of  this  kind  improve  the  vocal  organs  more 
rapidly  than  reading. 

"Wastes  and  deserts ;  waste  sand  deserts. 

He  could  I  Paiii  nobody. 

j  pay  nobody 

He  whet  a  wet  razor  on  his  strap. 

Whoever  heard  of  such  \  T^^J^^f^- 
(  a  notion. 

He  ought  to  ■<  P  !■  such  a  position. 

°  (  approve  J  ^ 

He  is  content  I  j^  neither  f  P^^^^' 


EEADING  BY  SOUNDS. 

So|  stately|her|beari  ng,  |so|proud|her 
a  rr  ay,  I  th  e  |  m  ai  n  |  sh  e  |  w  i  11  |  t  r  a  v  e  r  se  |  f  o  r- 
e  V  e  r  I  a  n  d  I  aye.      He|gave|to|    the|gale|his 

I  s  n  ow  I  wh  i  te  I  s  ai  1.  Th  e  |  ea  r  th  |  i  s  |  v  ei  1  ed  |  i  n  | 
sh  a  de  s  I  o  f  I  n  i  ght.  Th  e  |  s  ou  n  d  i  ng  |  ais  1  es  |  of  | 
th  e  I  d  i  m  I  w  00  d  s  |  r  a  ng.  F  or  |  1  i  fe,  |  for  |  1  i  fe,  | 
th  ei  r  I  f  1  i  ght  |  th  ey  |  p  1  y.     F  r  o  m  |  c  1  i  ff  |  to  |  c  1  i  ff 

I  th  e  I  s  m  o  k  i  ng  I  t  0  rr  e  n  ts  I  sh  i  ne.    W  i  1  d  |  winds 
a  n  d  I  m  a  d  I  w  a  ve  s  I  d  r  i  ve  I  th  e  I  V  e  ss  el  I  a  wr  e  ck. 


Exercise. — Commence  with  the  lightest  whisper  and  gradu- 
ally increase  to  the  loudest  Docality;  then  reverse  the  practice. 
In  either  direction  be  careful  not  to  change  the  pitch  or  alter 
the  natural  level  of  the  voice;  also  not  to  make  the  loudest 
sounds  other  than  in  a  pure^  round  tone.  When  satisfied  that 
they  can  be  given  properly  then  practice  the  forcible  sounds 
with  ALL  the  lung  power  you  can  possibly  bear  on  them, 


84  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

increasing  to  the  last.  If  given  in  impure  tones,  the  exercise 
will  severely  strain  the  throat  and  induce  disease.  When  the 
sounds  can  be  given  pure  and  mellow,  on  the  natural  pitch, 
the  voice  improves  wcmderfully  in  strength  in  a  very  limited 
time. 

Pure  tones  will  never  affect  the  throat,  let  them  be  given 
ever  so  loudly.  Even  a  few  weeks'  practice,  when  properly 
conducted,  will  make  a  great  change  in  the  voice. 

123456        7  8  9  8  7        6      54321 


a  B,  3i  a  a  a  a  a 


a  a  a  a  a  3j 
AVith  the  foregoing  severally  unite  Pitch,  Time,  Aspiration, 
(pure,)  and  the  Tremor,  and  make  a  variety  of  exercises.    Also 
add  the  same  to  the  following: 

Awake  !  arise  !  or  be  forever  fiillen ! 

Seize  on  \i\m^  furies^  take  him  to  your  torments! 

I  call  to  you  with  all  my  'voice. 

Kext  Anger  rusJied^  his  eyes  on  fire  ! 

lie  threw  his  Mood-stained  sword  m  thunder  dowiil 

Loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore ! 
Exercise. — Let  this  be  moderate  at  first ;  never  forced  ; 
solidly,  firmly,  promptly,  especially  in  the  loudest  tones.  Do  not 
raise  the  pirch  of  the  natural  voice.  To  vary  the  exercise,  add 
separately.  Pitch,  the  Tremor,  Aspiration,  (pure,)  and  the  Semi- 
tone ;  each  constituting  an  independent  practice. 

1.  As  soft  as  possible. 

2.  Very  soft. 
8.  Soft. 

4.  Kather  soft. 

5.  Middle,  or  mean.      1-  MARCH !  HALT  !  HALLOO  !  WOE ! 

6.  Rather  loud. 

7.  Loud. 

8.  Very  loud. 

9.  As  loud  as  possible. 

force — STRESSES. 

The  RADICAL  STRESS  is  the  explosive  or  bursting  style  of 
voice.     It  is  used  to  express  anger,  rage,  fear,  impetuous  cour- 


FORCE — STRESSES.  85 

age,  and  startling  emotions,  "  Ha  !  dost  thou  not  see  ? "  "  To 
arms!  They  come!  theGEEEx!  the  Greek!"  " Strike  till  the 
last  ar.ned  foe  expires!"  ''Yio-torv?  yio-tory,  their  colors 
fall!" 

The  MEDIAN  commences  easily,  widens  out  to  a  full,  round 
expression,  then  dies  gradually  away.  It  is  used  for  pathos, 
dignity,  deliberation,  gentleness.  ''Hail!  universal  Lord  1 " 
"  All  hail!    thou  1-o-ve-l-y  queen  of  night!  " 

The  thoeotjctH  is  the  power  placed  alike  on  all  parts 
strongly  and  firmly,  for  vehemence,  courage,  determination. 
''  Up  with  my  BAN-ners  on  the  wall !  "  "  Tried  and  convicted 
TRAITOR."  "Down  soothless  insulter."  (Suppressed  force 
and  vanishing  stress  on  soothless,  and  aspiration  on  insulter). 

The  VANISHING  commences  very  lightly,  widens  out  into  a 
full,  open  sound,  and  ends  abruptly.  Used  for  obstinacy,  fixed, 
sullen  determination,  anxious  alarm,  peevishness.  "  I  will  have 
my  bond."  "I  ne'er  will  ask  ye  quarter."  "Oh!  ye  Gods  I 
ye  Gods  !  must  I  endure  all  this? " 

The  intermediate  is  a  feeble,  trembling  voice :  "I  can  go 
no  further." 

The  oompotjnd  (or  Ead.  and  Van.).  The  radical  begins  and 
goes  to  the  middle  of  the  word  or  words,  and  then  the  vanish- 
ing does  its  part  by  ending.  It  is  rarely  used.  It  is  an 
unpleasant,  jerking  sound.  It  is  a  national  characteristic  among 
the  Irish ;  used  in  surprise,  raillery,  earnest  questions,  impor- 
tunate entreaty.  "Arm  warriors!  arm  for  the  fight!  "  "Gone 
to  be  married,  gone  to  swear  a  peace  ? "   "  Dost  thou  come  here 

to  WHINE  ? " 

THE  SEMITONE. 

The  semitone  is  simply  a  plaintive,  pitiful  expression. 
"  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man." 

THE  tremor. 

Add  a  trembling,  shaking  voice  to  the  above,  and  the  effect 
will  be  greatly  enhanced. 

" Thou  g  1 0  r  ious  mirror," — a-a-a-,  e-e-e,  i-i-i,  o-o-o, 
u-u-u,  oi-oi-oi,  ou-ou-ou. 


86  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 


THE  LOUD  WHISPEE. 


The  loud  whisper  is  a  most  admirable  practice — no  vocality ; 
a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi,  ou.  It  is  very  difficult,  but  will  be  found  a 
a  great  means  of  improvement.  Not  too  frequent,  and  stop 
when  giddy  or  pain  is  felt.     1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10. 

Example. — "Who  comes  here?  Ha!  thou  art  the  ghost  of 
my  murdered  friend!  I  cry  you  mercy.  I  implore  you  let  me 
rest  in  peace.  It  harrows  up  my  very  soul  with  terror  and 
amazement."  Add  Force,  Pitch,  Time,  the  Tremor,  and  the 
Semitone ;  and  practice  each  separately. 

explosives. 

The  explosives  are  calculated  to  give  depth  and  rotundity 
to  the  voice.  The  orotund  is  the  orator's  true  voice.  With 
some  it  is  natural;  with  all  ordinarily  good  voices  it  can  be 
acquired  to  a  remarkable  degree.  It  is  the  only  voice  capable 
of  rendering  the  more  majestic  and  heroic  styles  of  language. 
To  practice  the  explosives,  for  its  acquirement,  and  to  give  the 
voice  outline  and  edge,  the  position  must  be  erect,  and  the 
lungs  filled  to  the  greatest  capacity.  Hold  the  air  thus 
accumulated  until  perfectly  concentrated ;  then  burst  upon  the 
sounds  with  a  quick,  percussive  stroke  of  the  voice.  It  is  best 
to  have  consonants  precede  the  vowel  sounds.  Let  the  burst 
of  the  voice  come  like  a  clear  coughing  sound,  but  be  sure  and 
have  no  aspiration.  Let  the  sound  be  extremely  pure,  and  no 
unpleasant  eifect  will  follow  its  emission.  Hold  the  breath 
for  a  moment  firmly  on  the  consonant,  and  then  burst  it,  like  the 
report  of  a  pistol,  on  the  vowel. 

Explosives.— B-a!  B-e!  B-i!  B-o!  B  u!  B-oi!  B-ou! 
1^^  Practice  these  also  with  Pitch,  Aspiration,  and  the 
Semitone. 

Emphasis. — *'  I'm  tortured  to  madness,  to  think  of  it," 
"  A  cultivated  taste  converses  with  a  picture." 
"  Better  to  reign  in  hell,  than  serve  in  heaven." 
"  God  said,  '  Let  their  be  light ' — and  there  was  light." 


SKIPS,    SLIDES,    WAVES.  87 


Begin  with  the  natural  voice,  and  having  the  lungs  com- 
pletely filled  make  the  sounds  rise  one  above  the  other,  as  you 
would  in  music,  except  that  the  sounds  must  be  spoken,  and 
not  sung.  Make  each  sound,  as  you  pass  up  this  speaking 
scale,  full  and  round.  Rise  as  though  counting  1,  2,  8,  4,  5,  6, 
7,  8,  9,  10,  &c.  The  number  of  sounds  will  depend  upon  the 
slowness  or  rapidity  of  enunciation.  Rise  beyond  where  the 
voice  breaks  into  the  falsette.  Garry  it  up  as  high  as  it  is 
possible  to  convert  the  air  into  sound.  Begin  again,  with  the 
natural  voice,  and  pass  down  the  s[)eaking  scale.  Make  each 
sound,  as  before,  round,  pure,  and  full,  to  the  very  lowest. 
Then  pass  up  from  the  natural  to  the  highest  in  uninterrupted 
sound,  then  down  from  the  starting  point  to  the  very  lowest 
note.  The  first  manner  of  going  up  the  scale  may  be  called 
skipping,  the  latter  sliding.  The  sounds  may  be  called  skips  and 
slides,  or  discrete  and  concrete  sounds.  The  skips  or  discretes, 
are  used  in  the  simplest  forms  of  reading;  the  slides  in  very 
emphatic  styles.  The  voice  passing  up  the  scale  to  any  desired 
point,  and  then  passing  immediately  down  in  one  continuous 
movement,  upon  the  same  breath,  is  called  a  wave.  It  can 
be  reversed,  and  commence  by  going  down  first  and  then 
rising.  The  greater  the  distance  to  which  it  rises  and  falls,  or 
falls  and  rises,  of  course  varies  its  intensity  of  expression. 
[See  Exercises,  page  88.] 

Also,  practice  the  Pitch  with  the  Semitone,  or  Plaintive 
movement  of  voice,  and  afterward  add  the  Tremor,  or  Trem- 
ulous style,  and  Aspiration. 

In  singing,  the  voice  continues  on  the  same  level  for  each 
sound ;  while  in  speaking,  it  never  rests  for  a  single  instant  on 
the  same  pitch,  but  rises,  or  falls,  according  to  the  direction 
given  to  it  until  the  sound  ceases. 

The  Slide  has  great  beauty ;  endearing  in  tone,  and  some- 
times plaintive  and  desolate  to  tears. 


88 


VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


Indifference. — Ques. — Have  you  my  book?  Ans. — No,  I 
have  my  own. 

Interest, — Ques. — How  came  he  here  ?  Ans. — I  do 
not  know. 

Eagerness. — Ques. — How  dare  you  thus 
provoke  me  ?     Ans. — I  do  not  fear  you. 

Passion. — Ques. — How  now,  are  we 
turned  Turks? — Ans. — Let's  kill^  slay, 
slaughter. 

High  Pitch. — Oh  !  I  could  mount  with  rajjture  to  the  very 
stars. 

Natural  Yoioe. — Morn  is  gleaming  in  the  dappled  east. 
Low  Pitch. — ^Eternity!  thou  pleasing,  dreadfal  thought! 


PITCH. WAVES.  89 

Simple  "Wave — Direct ;  and  inverted,  thus : — 

*'I  come  to  bury  Csesar,  not  to  praise  him. 
(direct)  (inverted) 

The  waves  of  the  third,  fifth,  and  octave  are  rarely  used, 
though,  if  practiced,  they  will  assist  in  developing  the  voice. 
Take  the  sounds,  and  give  a  longer,  fuller  expression,  until  the 
thirds,  fifths,  and  both  octaves,  direct  and  inverted,  have  been 
exemplified. 

Direct    and    Inverted  Waves — Of  equal    thirds,  fifths, 
octaves ;  unequal  thirds,  fifths,  octaves : — a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi,  ou. 
You  talk  of  grief?     You  a  prince's  son  I 

(inverted  unequal)  (direct  unequal) 

The  unequal  waves  are  for  different  degrees  of  time  and 
fulness  of  the  contemptuous  and  sneering  styles  of  expressi(m. 
As  represented  in  the  diagram,  the  sides  of  the  wave  are  of 
unequal  ength. 

Continued  Wave — is  a  number  of  waves,  seldom  used — 
a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi,  ou.     But  it  is  an  excellent  practice. 

HigJi  notes  tire  the  muscles  of  the  neck,  but  are  excellent 
aids  in  deepening  the  tones  of  the  voice,  to  strengthen  and 
invigorate  the  vocal  powers. 

To  whisper  forcibly  an  octave  above  and  then  helow,  is 
exceedingly  difficult,  but  is  highly  beneficial. 

Conversation  might  be  visibly  represented  by  the 
size  of  the  letters  in  which  these  lines  are  printed. 

Public  Speaking  is  only  a  larger  conversa- 
tion^  and  might  proportion  ably  be  thus  exem- 
plified in  larger  tj^pe. 

Drawling  and  Monotony  might 
be  illustrated  in  the  extended  stjde  here  given. 

EADIOAL   AND   VANISHING   MOVEMENT. 

6  e  e  e  6  e  e 

a  a         a         a         a         a         a 


90  VOICE   AND  ACTION. 

Each  vowel  sound  has  its  rad.  and  van.  however  light  the 
latter.     The  following  words  exemplify  it. 

'  t— (bat.)  •  te— (fate.)  '  le— (dale.) 

b-a  f-a  d-a 


"  rn — (mom.)             ""  n — (noon.) 
m-o                            n-oo 

"  te— (bite.) 
b-i 

e                                      er 

in—     ,,       mer—   „ 
A— mong              nu —               a — ble 

false     „ 

nn — moved, 

„         sha — ken,     „            se — duced, 
Un —                          nn — 

„       ter— ri—   « 
un —              fied ; 

,   loy — al —   ,        e      kept,     his        „  his 

His  ty     he  love,  zea-1 


VOCALIZE   AND   ASPIRATE. 

10.     As  high  as  -possible.— (Vociferation,)— ^^  StriJce,  for  the 

sires  who  left  you  free  !  " 
9.     Extremely  high. — "I  repeat  it  sir,  let  it  come!   let  it 

come ! " 
8.     Yery  high,  spirited. — "Three  millions  of  people  armed 

in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty." 
Y.     High. — "  The  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang." 
6.     Rather  high. — "  With   music   I   come  from    my  balmy 

home." 
5.    Middle. — (Firm,  natural.)-—"  A  vision  of  beauty  appeared 

on  the  clouds." 
4.    Rather  low. — "  Friends,  Romans,  Countrymen ! " 
3.    Low.— (Modest.) — And  this  is  in  the  night !  most  glorious 

night ! " 
2.     Very  low.— (Sublime.) — "Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark 
'  blue  Ocean, — roll!" 

1.    As  low  as  possible. — (Solemn.) — "Eternity!  thou  pleas- 
ing, dreadful  thought." 


MODULATIOI?^"   AND    MELODY. 


91 


Begin     with- 
the  very  highest 

and  descend 
line  by   line    to_ 
the  very  lowest 
roteof  the  voice.  - 
Then  reverse  by 
commencing 
vi^ith  the  very   - 
lowest  and  rising 
to  the  very  high- " 

est. 
This  practice  will 
modulate 
th  e  voice.    _ 


-1-10 
-2-9 
-3-8 

-4-r 

-5-6 
-6-5 

-7-4 
-8-3 
-9-2 
-lO-l 


"  Thongh  you  untie  the  winds,  and 
let  them  fight 

Against  the  churches ;  though  the 
yesty  waves 

Confound  and   swallow  navigation 
up; 

Though  bladed  corn  be  lodg'd  and 
trees  blown  down; 

Though  castles  topple  on  their  war- 
ders' heads ; 

Though   palaces   and   pyramids  do 
slope 

Their  heads  to  their  foundations; 
though  the  treasure 

Of  nature's  germins  tumble  all  to- 
gether, 

Even  till  destruction  sicken,  answer 
me 
^  To  what  I  ask  you." 


Afterwards  add  Force,  Time,  Aspiration,  the  Tremor  and 
the  Semitone  to  both  of  these  exercises  and  practice  separately 
with  each. 


MODULATION   AND   MELODY. 

MODULATIOIsr,  is  the  Pitch  of  paragrapTis  and  sentences, 
MELODY,  is  the  Pitch  oi words  and  syllables  in  each  sentence. 
The  one  is  the  geneeal  pitch,  the  other  the  peogeessive. 

EXAMPLES. 

(natural  wice.)  (rather  high.) 

The  moon  her-  is  lost  in  heaven ;  |  but  art  for  ev-er 

self  thou 


the 


re-joic-ing  in  the  brightness  of 


thy 


course ; 


pests,  I 
(low  pitch,)  tem-  (Jirm^  nat.  mice,) 

When  the  world  is  dark  with  when  thunder  rolls, 

flies,  I  (ratJier  high.)  clouds, 

and  lightning  thou  lookest  in  thy  beauty  from  the 


92  VOICE    AND   ACTIOX. 

(HigTi.)       est 

And  laugh-    at  the  (j^^^,  '^cti-  'coice.) 

storm.  I  But,  to  Ossiao,  thou  look-est 

in 
vain. 

house, 
{nat.  voice.)  field,  j 

The  fire  blasted  every  consumed  ever-  and 

(rather  low) 
destroyed  every 

tem- 
ple.  

(rather  low.) 
Then  ^ook  the  hills  with  thunder  riv'n, 

(rather  high.)  tie 

Then  rush'd  the  steeds  to  dat-         driv'n, 

n, 
(high.)  Jieav- 

And  louder  than  the  dolts  of 
(rather  low.) 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery, 

(rather  high.)  tower^ 

Ye  are  the  things  tliat  that  shine.,  whose  smile 

(high.)  glad.^ 

kes  (low.) 

ma-  whose  frown  is  ter- 

ri- 
ble. 


(r.  high.) 
Ex-ult-ing, 

(high.) 
ing, 
rag-            faint- 
er. -».)                                  ing, 
trembling. 

(n.  V.) 
Dis-turb'd, 

light-      '    (r,h.) 
de-                     raised,  re-     (n.  -y.) 
fined. 

(rath,  low.)  less,  (r.  I.) 

less,  less,   man-  life- 

Season-  herbless,  tree-  less — 


MODULATION   AND    MELODY,  93 


death, —  (low.) 

A  lump  of  a  chaos  of  hard 

clay. 


How  j9(?(?r,  how  how  abject,  how  au- 

cate, 
pli- 
How  com-  how  wonderful 

is 
man. 

(^nat.  'Goice.)  time^ 

For  who  would  bear  the  wMps  and  scorns  of 

contumely^ 
The  oppressor's  wrong ^  the  proud  man's 

{rather  Mgli.)  de-lay^ 

The  pangs  of  despised  love^  the  lawh 

(high,)       Jice, 
The  insolence  of  of-       and  (r.  I.) 

the  ns, 

spur- 
worthy 
That  patient  merit  of  the  un-  takes, 

(rather  low.) 
When  he  himself,  might  his  quietus  make 

(low.) 
"With  a  bare  hod- 

Tcin. 

iLLUSTEATiONS,  (in  a  new  form^  feom  de.  eush. 

He  na-  in-fi-nite 

reads  in  lure's  book 

of  se- 

cre- 

cy. 

Ti- 
drinks,  but       mon's  sil-        treads 
He        er  ver  up-on 

nev-  his 

lip. 


M 


VOICE  a:n^d  action. 


drinks, 
nev-er  but  Ti-  sil- 

He  mon's        ver  treads 


up-on 


his 


lip. 


Ti-  ver  treads 

He  nev-        drinks,  but        mon's  sil-  upon 

er  his 


lip. 


That  quar-ter 


most 


the 


skil- 


ful 


Greeks 


noy, 


"Where 


yon 


wild 


trees  the 

fig  join 


walls 


of 


Troy. 


1=        Sweet'      is'  breath' 

(Tripartite.)  the'  of 


2=        The'  fanned'      un' num' 

{Tripartite,)    air'  was'  by'  ber'd' 

plumes." 


d=(l8t  Duad.) 

tur' — 'ret'  and' 

With'  crest' 


am' el'" 

en'—  d" 


neck." 


4:={M  Duad.) 

The' 

mean'- 


name",  I' 
ing',  not'  the'  ca' — 


11." 


6=(F6eI)le  Cadence.) 

hj  not'     s^ — 

No\  the'     rood'  o\ 

Q=(False  Cadence.) 

Of  more  ex I    boast' 

wiles  in pert  

not.' 


CADENCES    AND   PITCH.  95 

(10) 

9  (high.) 
8 

7  MELODY  AND  MODULATION. 

6 

=:  =  =NAT.   YOIOE.  

5 

„  EXTEAOT.— OTHELLO.      (SHAKS.) 

2 

1  (low.) 

^ture' 

*and'  tor' me', 

Most'                 Mer'  her' 
''If  thou'  slan' 

«'re' 

^Kev' — er'  pray'  more' :  Mon'  all'  morse' ; 

*a' — ban' — 

^hor ror's'  4ior' ®ac' 

*0n'  ^head'  ^rors'  cum' u'- 

*late' ; 

®weep',  air 
®n'  ®earth'  a' — 

■^make'  Heav" —  "^mazed"; 

Meeds'  to' 
^^Do' 

■^Eor' 

''noth'— ing'  «to' 

^canst'  thou'        dam' na' — ^tion' 

*add; 

^Great' er' 

Hhan' 

*that.^ 

INTONATION  AT   PAUSES. 

the'"  aph'Ab' ^       faith'— ful' 

So'  spake'         ser' —  *  diel' ;  found' ^ 

mong'    the'  Faith' —  on' 

A'-  faith'—  fur  ly' 

lesi.  Tie. 


96  VOICE    AISTD    ACTION. 

in' —           mer' —  false' 

A' — mong'         nu' —  a' ble'  un' — moved\ 


Un'- 

shak' 

—en', 

un' — 

se' — duced\ 

un' — 

ter'— ri'- 

fied'-, 

His' 

loy'- 

-al'- 

if  he' 

kept'^  his' 

love'f 

his' 

zed- 

""    i: 

Nor' 

num' — 

'ter'^ 

2iTn.—ple\                      wrought' 
nor'    ex' —                    with'  him' 

To' 

swer've 

from 

truth' ; 

change'  his' 
or'                    con 

stant' 

mind\ 

Though' 

sin(g)^ 

gle> 


INTEEEOGATIYE   SENTENCES. 

{Rising  5th)  in  thorough  Interrogation  used  on  every  syllable. 
(a)      t        (po)    th      s  s  s  ? 

8  I  I  I  1  I  I  I 

a      a.  11         e         or- 

,ti    I     1    ^    I     I     I      I 

ve  I        a       st         I       w       h        c         t 

I         (po)—t  ne  I 

^    J  J 

Br  An 

Give  Brutus  a  statue  witli  his  ancestors  ? 


(An  other  form.') 

(«)'    idy           (ry  (ey     (ey     (ey 

I       I             I  (»)'  I        I    .,L 

He     said        (pay  were  |  pa—     ra—    Die  ? 

u  in (my 

you  I 

com — 


PITCH.  97 

He  said  you  were  incomparable  ? 

(veY  {sf  (dy  (ry    (zy 

ay  (uy    (ay         — *    (o)«    (ly    —'    Qey 

—'  —2      — ^  (m)«      — ^      — '^      (6)^       — * 

Give^       (hy  ius^       a^  —^     tov'     his^      — ^     (^a)* 

—^  (e)'umph^  de^  — '^ 

Give  Fabius  a  triumph  for  his  delay  ? 
Rising  Ootaye. — Hath  a  dog  money  ? 
Partial  Interrogation. — 

Brother,  good  day !  what  means  this  armed  guard 

That  waits  upon  your  grace  ? 


SEMITONE   AND   TREMOR. 

Pit — y  the  rows  of  a  p-o-o-r 

sor —  o-l-d (d) — 


man. 


O  ^BANquo,  ^BANquo, 

Our  Royal  master's  m-u-r-der'-d. 

DOWNWARD   OCTAVE. 

So  frown'd  the  mighty  combatants  that  HELL 
Grew  darker  at  their  frown. 


DOWNWARD   FIFTH. 

(Concrete)  used  for  emphasis, 

i 

if 

ms,  I 

ee-  mad — ^am,  it  g  | 

S-  ^ay 

Downward  5th  on  j  Hence,  horrible  shadow, 
each  syllable.      (  Unreal  mockery,  hence. 
5 


08  VOICE   AND  ACTION. 


(e) ^h 

(e)         - 
—  o 

(0 

Heigh  (oo)  ! 

DOWirwARD  FIFTH. — (Discrete.) 

(gram  surprise,) 

he'  am'' bi'' 

Bru' says'  was' 

Yet'  

Hious.^ 

^__ ^^tus' 

DOWNWARD  THiBD  (Concrete.) 

bra  — 
but' the'  l^Tone'  the'  — 

Kone'  brave' !  but'  ve^  I 

No  —  ve' 

—        but'  —        de' serve' 

ne^  the'  bra' —  the' 

fair. 


Another  Example. — (Discrete.) 

E' denf             their' 

Through'                                        sol'— 
Hooh' 

(prepared  cadence.) 
i'_ta  — 

TJ 

way. 

WAVES. 

(Higher  intervals  seldom  used.) 
Equal  Wave  of  the  Seooot>. — (Used  on  an  average^  in  the 
loftiest  description,  on  three  syllables  in  ten.    If  used  oftener 
drawling  is  the  result.) 

a- 
i-  o-  which  f-      r 

H-    gh  on'  a'  thr-      ne'    of  r-      j      sta'- 

o-  al'  te\ 

0- 

Out' sh-      ne  mus'and'of     n- 

the'  wealth  of  O-       r—  I-     d, 

(er-) 


WAVES    OF   THE    SECOND.  99 

e-  0-  a- 

Or'  wlie-    re         g-    r — geous'  rich' — est'  h-    nd 

the'  East'  with' 


ea- 

0- 

i- 

bar'- 

— ic' 

P- 

•    rl  and' 

go' 

- 

Sh- 

w- 

-ers' 

on' 

her'  K- 

ngs 

bar' — 

Id, 

alt^ 


Sa' —  ex' ed' 

sat.' 
tan' 


{Another  example  of  the  same.) 

Of  say' —                            ble'           ke'  he'  gh', 

S-  i' —        a'  no' stro' —  lift' ed'hi- 

^ 

with'  t'- 
hu'—  but' so'  swift  em' — pest' fell', 

"Which'  ng'  not', 

{o)  ou- 

O n        pr-      d  Sa' no'       ght/ 

the'  crest'  of  tan,'  that        si'- 

tion'  of  thought',  le'- 

iN'or'  mo' swift'  ss'  could'  his'      ie- 

sh-    Id, 

_ 

Su' —  u-  in'  in' 

r-     {oo) ter'' 

cept.' 

Some  are  not  content  with  the  heautiful  simple  melody  of 
speech  with  an  occasional  wave  or  slide  of  the  octave^  fifth  and 
third ;  but  must  continually  deal  out  the  higher  intervals  exclu- 
sively^ thus  allowing  no  repose  to  the  ear  and  producing  a  most 
disagreeable  drawling^  and  monotonous  delivery. 

Even  in  the  loftiest  and  most  imaginative  styles  of  language, 
the  simple  rise  and/aZZ  of  the  voice  greatly  preponderates:  and 
the  other  intervals  are  applied  occasionally  to  syllables^  and  are 
thus  diffused  through  sentences. 

Proper  pausing  is  better  than  the  immoderate  use  of  the 
wave  and  slide. 


100  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


Eapid.  — Moderate. — Slow. 
1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,10,  11,  12,  13,  14,  15,  16,  IT,  18,  19,  20. 

1234    12121234      123 

a,    a,   a,    a.   e,   e.    i,    i.    o,    o,  o,    o.    u,    u,   u.    oi, — ou. 

Even  in  quick  time,  seem  to  be  rapid,  but  not  so  quick  as  to 
make  tlie  hearer  lose  what  he  would  gladly  rememler.  He 
then  hears  but  forgets.  Have  the  syllaUes  abrwpt^  but  yet 
talce  sufficient  time  in  reading  the  words  to  be  well  understood. 
It  requires  great  skill. 

Take  the  utmost  pains  to  have  each  sound  distinct.  In 
slow  time  breathe  deeply,  make  the  sounds  full  and  round, 
and  if  there  is  any  tendency  to  drawling,  it  will  disappear. 

QUICK. 

Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil. 
Like  mountain-cat  that  guards  her  young, 
Full  at  Fitz  James's  throat  he  sprung. 

MODEEATE. 

There  were  light  sounds  of  reveling.  With  music  I  come 
from  my  balmy  home.  There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  lake. 
The  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  a  steed  that  knows  his  rider. 
A  vision  of  beauty  appeared  on  the  clouds.  The  bells  he 
jingled,  and  the  whistle  blew.  Labor  is  but  refreshment  from 
repose. 

SLOW  TIME — (great   QUANTITY). 

O  thou  Eternal  One,  whose  presence  bright 

All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide ; 

Being  above  all  beings,  mighty  One  I 

"Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore, 

"Who  filPst  existence  with  thyself  alone ; 

Being  whom  we  call  God,  and  know  no  more. 


TIME — QUANTITY.  101 

PEAOTICE. 

1.  As  quick  as  possible. — Quick  as  the  lightning's  flash  that 

illumines  the  night. 

2.  Very  quick. — Charge  for  the  golden  lilies,  now,  upon  them 

with  the  lance. 
8.  Quick. — Hurrah !  the  foes  are  moving. 

4.  Kather  Quick. — Wild  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel 

a-wreck. 

5.  Medium  time. — What  stronger  breast-plate  than  a  heart 

untainted. 

6.  Kather  slow. — Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 

v.  Slow. — The  bell  strikes  one !   we  take  no  note  of  time,  but 
from  its  loss. 

8.  Yery  slow. — Which  like  a  wounded  snake  drags  its  slow 

length  along. 

9.  The  slowest  time. — Slow  tolls  the  village  clock  the  drowsy 

hour. 

Then  with  Aspiration,  the  Tremor,  and  the  Semitone,  Force 
and  Pitch. 


a,  a,  a,  a,  a,     a— e,     a — e.     a- 


-e.     a- 

(a) 


Now  turn  to  some  selection  in  the  latter  part  of  the  book, 
and  for  practice,  read  first  very  slowly,  then  read  the  same 
piece  in  moderate  time,  and  then  just  as  fast  as  is  possible  to 
read  and  be  distinct. 

The  power  of  suspending  the  voice  at  pleasure,  is  one  of 
the  most  useful  attainments  in  the  art  of  speaking.  It  enables 
the  orator  to  pause  as  long  as  he  chooses  and  still  keep  his 
hearers  in  expectation  of  what  is  to  follow.  When  well  done, 
the  eifects  are  wonderful. 

The  speaker  can  take  advantage  of  the  pauses  to  inhale 
imperceptibly  a  copious  supply  of  air,  and  collect  his  ideas. 

The  pauses  relieve  the  ear  from  the  incessant  flow  of  sound, 
and  animate  the  meaning;  they  also  divide  and  enforce  the 
harmony  of  language. 


w 
o 


1Q2  y04.GE    AND   ACTION. 

EULES  FOE  PAUSING 

1.  The  nominative  phrase. 

2.  The  ohjective  phrase  in  an  inverted  sentence. 

3.  The  emphatic  word  or  clause  of  force. 

4.  Each  memher  of  a  sentence. 

5.  Ihe  noun  when  followed  by  an  adjective. 

6.  Words  in  apposition. 

7.  The  infinitive  mood. 

8.  Prepositions  (generally). 

9.  Relative  Pronouns. 

10.  Conjunctions. 

11.  Adverbs  (generally). 

12.  An  Ellipsis. 

GENEEAL  EULE. 

Pause  after  every  two  or  three  words,  and  at  the  end  of 
every  line  in  poetry.  Pauses  are  not  breaks,  they  simply  sus- 
pend the  sense.    They  are  short  in  rapid,  long  in  slow  reading. 

Examples. — The  passions^  of  mankind*  frequently^  blind 
them. 

With  famine*    and  death ^  the  destroying  angel  came. 

He  exhibits*  now  and  then*  remarkable  genius. 

He  was  a  man^  contented. 

The  morn^^  was  clear ^^  the  eve^  was  clouded. 

It  is  prudent"  in  every  man'^  to  make  early  provision 
^against  the  wants  of  age ^"  and  the  chances^  of  accident. 

Nations**  like  men^  faiP  in  nothing^  which  they  boldly 
attempt**  when  sustained^  by  virtuous  purpose *°  and  firm 
resolution. — R,  Clay. 

A  people* 2  once  enslaved*  may  groan* ^  ages^  in  bondage. 

Their  diadems*-  crowns^  of  glory. 

They  cried^  ''Death^  to  the  traitors!" 

Note. — Never  pause  between  the  verh  and  its  objective 
case,  in  a  direct  sentence,  unless  other  words  intervene. 

The  Middle  Pause. — So  called  because  it  most  frequently 
occurs  in  the  middle  of  a  f  entence. 

Example. — These^  are  the  men  +  to  whom++ arrayed^  in 
all  the  terrors^  of  Government + 1  would  say++you  shall  not 
degrade  us^  into  brutes. — BurTce, 


PAUSING.  103 

MAECO    B0ZZAEI8. 

At  midnight+in  his  guarded + tent, 
The  Turk +] ay + dreaming + of  the  hour+ 
"When  Greece,  her  knee + in  suppliance+bent, 
Should  tremble + at  his  power  ; 
In  dreams,  through  camp + and  court,  he  bore+ 
The  trophies  +  of  a  conqueror ; 
In  dreams, +his  song+of  triumph + heard; 
Then  wore+his  monarch's + signet-ring; 
Then  pressed+that  monarch's  +  throne— a  king; 
As  wild  +  his  thoughts,  and  gay  +  of  wing, 
As  Eden's + garden  bird. 

An  hour + passed  on, — the  Turk + awoke ; 
That  bright + dream + was + his  last ; 
He  woke — to  hear + his  sentry's + shriek, 
"  To  arms  !   they  come  !   the  Greelc  !  the  Greek  /" 
He  woke — to  die + midst  flame + and  smoke, 
And  shout + and  groan+and  sabre-stroke,  + 
And  death-shots+ falling + thick + and  fast+ 
As  lig]itnings+ from + the  mountain-cloud; 
And  heard,  with  voice  +  as  trumpet + loud,    . 

Bozzaris+ cheer + his  band  : 
"  Steike — till  +  the  last + armed^foe + expires  ; 
Steike— ;/br  your  altars  ^■  and  your  fires  ; 
Steike— t/^t*  the  green+gra'oes+of  your  sires; 

God, — and  your  native  ■¥  land  P"^ 

They  fought+like  brave  men,  long+and  well; 
They  piled + that  ground + with  Moslem  slain; 
They  conquered, — but  Bozzaris+fell, 

Bleeding + at  every + vein. 
His  few + surviving + comrades + saw + 
His  smile,  when  rang + their  proud + hurrah, 
And -i- the  red  field + was  won ; 
Then  saw + in  death  +  his  eyelids + close + 
Calmly + as + to  a  night's + repose, 

Like  flowers + at  set + of  sun. 


104  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

EYTHMUS   OF   SPEECH. 

+It  is  I  now  I  sij-teen   or  [  seven-iQ^n  \  years  \  +  since   I  | 
saw  the  queen  of  |  France,  +  |  then  the  |  i)<2'2^-phi-nGss,  |  +  at 
Ver-  I  sallies:  |  +  +  |  +and  |  sure-\y  \  nev-ev  \  Ught-Qd  on  this 
I  orh^  I  +wliich  she  |  hard-ly  \  seemed  to  |  touchy  +  |  +a  |  more 
de-  I  lighi-fu]  \  ms-ion.  |  +    +  |  +   +  [  +  I  |  saw  her  |  jicst  a-  | 
hove  the   ho-  |  ri-zou^  I    +    +    I  <^^c-o-rating   and  |  cheer-ing  \ 
+   the  I  eZ-e-vat-ed  |  sphere  |  +   she  |  just  be-  |  gan  to  |  mo'ce 
in :  I  +    +1  glit-tQY-\ng  \  +  like  the  |  morn-mg  \  star:  |  +   +  | 
full  of  I  life^  +  I  +  and  |  splen-(\oY,  \  +  and  |  joy.  \ 

Oh  !  I  what  a  |  rev-o-  \  lu-t\oii  I  |  +  +  |  +  and  |  what  a  | 
heart  +  \  must  I  |  have,  \  +  to  con-  |  ^^m-plate  |  +  with-  | 
out  e-  I  w<?-tion,  |  that  +  |  +  el-e-  |  va-tlon  \  +  and  | 
that  +    I  fall.  I 

+    In  the  I  s^c-ond  |  cent-u-vj  \    +     of  the  |  Ohrist-'mn  \ 
e-YB.  I  +   the  I  ^w-pire  of  |  Rome  \  +  com-pre-  |  hend-ed  the  | 
fai7'-Gst  I  part  of  the  |  earth    +  |  +    and  the  |  most   +  |  civ- 
il-ized  I  por-tion  \  +    of  man-  |  hind, 

EXPEESSION. — STYLES. 

Soft  and  Delicate. — The  swan's  sweetest  song  is  the  last  he 

sings. 
Brilliant^  SparJcling. — ^Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial. 
Fierce^  Vehement. — Strike  !  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires. 
Spirited,— AgeiYn.  to  the  battle,  Achaians  I 

QUALITY. — TONES   OF   VOICE. 
I  NATUEAL,  or 

\  PURE. — (high.) 
Cheerfulness. — When  cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue. 
Joy. — ^Rejoice  such  tidings  good  to  hear  I 
Pathos. — Ah!   poor  soldier!    Oh!  fond  mother,  you  are  sev- 

er'd  now,  for  aye  ! 
Love. — The  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well. 
Solemnity. — (at  times.) — There  is  a  world  where  there  falls  no 

blight. 
Sorrow. — Kindred,  friends !  and  have  I  lost  you  all. 


EXPRESSION.  105 

OEOTrND. 

Pathos. — And  is  this  all  that  remains  of  Hamilton  ? 
Solemnity. — Its  solemn  tones  are  ringing  in  my  ear. 
Joy. — (when  dignified.) — Earth  with  her  thousand  voices  calls 
on  God. 

FALSETTE. — (rarely  used.) 
Terror. — Help !   help  I   mercy,  oh  !    save  me  ! 

ASPIRATION". 

Wonder. — Sir  Eichard,  what  think  you,  have  you  beheld  it? 
Amazement. — Gone  to  be    friends?      Thou  hast    mis-spoke, 

mis-heard! 
Excess  of  Anger. — Alive  in  triumph  ?  and  Mercutio  slain  ? 
Bevenge. — ^If  he  'scape.  Heaven  forgive  him  too  I 
Fear, — Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us! 

{Pure  aspiration.) 
Terror. — I've  done  the  deed — did'st  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ? 
Haste. — Haste    me  to  know   it,   that  I  may  swoop  to  my 

revenge. 
Eemorse. — I  am  alone  the  villain  of  the  earth,  and  feel  I  am 

so  most. 
Despair. — Comb  down  his  hair,  look !  look !  it  stands  upright. 

GUTTURAL. 

Contempt. — Get  thee  gone,  before  I  learn  the  worst. 
Malice. — How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks. 
Impatience. — He  is  my  bane,  I  cannot  bear  him. 
Bate. — When  forth  you  walk,  may  the  sun  strike  you  with 

livid  plagues. 
LoatJiing. — I  loathe  ye  with  my  bosom,  I  scorn  you  with  mine 

eye. 

GROUPING   OF   SPEECH   AND   EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis,  is  the  whole  life   of  expression.     Try  the  sup' 
posed  word  or  words,  and  fill  in  other  words  until  satisfied  as 
to  which  are  emphatic. 
5* 


106  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

Examples  of  geouping  with  empTiatic  words. — Art  thou 
that  traitor  angel,  art  thou  he  who  first  broke  p-e-a-c-e — in 
heaven,  eLudf-ai-th — till  then  -wribroken  ? 

Say  first,  for  H-e-a-v-en, — hides  nothing  from  thy  mew 
nor  the  deep  tract  of  HELL. 

Having  the  wisdom  to  fore-s-ee — he  took  measures  to  pre- 
vent— the  .dis-as-ter. 

After  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to  save  himself  fe-o-m — he 
took  es-pecial  care,  never  to  fall  again  into — the — polluted 

• — STEEAM — of — AMBITION. 

Blew  an  inspiring  ai-r — that  dale  and  thicket  ru-ng — 
The  hunter's  c-a-ll^ — ^to  Faun  and  Dryad  known. 
Then  wh-en — I  am  thy  cap-tive—tdlk  of  chains. 
For  soon  expect  to  feel 
His  thun-der  on  thy  head,  de-vour-iug  fire, 
Then,  who  cre-a^ed  thee  lamenting  learn, 
"When  who  can  un-cresitQ  thee  thou  shalt  Icnow, 

INCENTIVES   TO   DEVOTION. 

Lo !  the  un-lett-ered  (HIKD),  who  never  Jonew 
To  raise  his  mind  ex-cursive  to  the  hight 
Of  abstract  contem-plation,  as  he  sits 
On  the  green  hillock  by  the  hedge-row  side, 
What  time  the  insect  swarms  are  murmuring, 
And  maeks,  in  silent  thought,  the  beoken  olotjds, 
That  fringe,  with  loveliest  hue,  the  evening  «%, 
(FEELS)  in  his  soul  the  HAND  of  natuee  eousb 
The  theill  of  geatitude,  to  him  who  foemed 
The  goodly  peospect  ;  he  leholds  the  God 
Throned  in  the  west :  and  his  reposing  ear 
Hears  sounds  angelic  in  the  fitful  Ireeze 
That  floats  through  neighboring  copse  or  fairy  5ra^, 
Or  lingers  playful,  on  the  haunted  stream. 

^  ^  ^  ^  ^  ^  "Hf,. 

And  shall  it  e'er  he  said,  that  a  poor  (HIND,) 

l^ursed  in  the  lap  of  ignorance,  and  hred 

In  want  and  labor,  (GLOWS)  with  noble  zeal 


INTONATION.  107 

To  LAUD  his  Maker's  atteibutes,  while  (HE) 
Whom  starry  science  in  her  cradle  rocked, 
(CLOSES)  his  eye  upon  the  holy  word, 
And,  Hind  to  all  hut  arrogance  and  pride, 
(DARES)  to  declare  his  infidelity, 
And  o-p^N-LY  CONTEMN  the  Lord  of  Hosts  I 

Emphatic  syllables  diffuse  the  expression  through  entire 
sentences.     See  the  following  example  : — 

Par-don  me,  thou  lleed-ing  piece  of  earth. 


INTONATION. 

Intonation  is  the  act  of  sounding  syllables,  and  resembles 
the  strokes  given  to  the  notes  of  a  piano  by  a  performer. 
It  is  the  vocalized  body  of  the  syllable. 

ODE   ON   AET. 

(Voice  suspended  at  the  long  dashes  as  if  going  on  to  the 
next  word.) 

"Wh-en, -from  the  sa-cred  gar-d^n  driven, 

Man — fl-ed  be-fore  his  Ma-ker's  wra-th, 

An  angel — le-/t — her  place  in  heav-en, 

An-d  crossed  the  wan-der-er's  sun-less  ^«*y^. 

'Twas — AET  !  sweet  aet  !  new  ra-di-ance  hroJce — 
Where — her — light— foot  flew  o''er  the  ground: — 

And — thus — with  ser-aph — voice  she  spoJce, — 

Th-e  c-urse a — hless-ing  shall  defou-nd, 

******* 

ffe — plu-cTcs  the  peae-ls — that  stud  the  dee-p, — 

Ad-mir-ing  beauty's  lap  to  fi-ll : — 
He  hrealcs  the  stubborn  mar-lie'' s  sleep, — 

And  mo-clcs  his  own  crea-tor''s  sTcill. 
"With  THOUGHTS  that  swell  his  glowing  sou-l, — 

He  BIDS  the  ore  ill-ume  the  page, — 
And  proud-ly  scorn-ing  Time's  con-trol, — 

Com-mee-oes  with  an  un-horn  a-ge. 


108 


VOICE    AND   ACTION. 


Infields  of  air  he  weites  his  na-me, — 

And  TREADS  the  cham-bers  of  the  sky ; 
He  eea-ds  the  stars^  and  grasps  the^am<j — 

That  quivers  round  the  throne  on  high. 
In  wa-r — re-nowned^  m  peace — sub-lime, — 

He  mo-yes  in  great-ness  and  in  gra-ce, — 
His  pow-ER  sub-du-ing  spa-ce  and  ti-me, — 

Links  r-ea-lm  to  r-ea-lm^  and  race  to  race. 

Eemark. — Some  syllables  are  more  capable  than  others  of 
receiving  what  may  be  termed  Expressive  Intotiation  ;  but  the 
degree  and  quality  of  this  intonation  is  relative.  It  depends 
for  its  application  entirely  upon  the  style  of  the  language  in 
which  such  words  may  be  used,  whether  grave  or  gay,  lively 
or  severe. 

Any  one  will  see  that  if  any  of  the  few  selected  were  given 
in  serious  discourse  they  would  have  more  weight,  fullness  and 
character  than  in  more  simple  language.  The  judgment  must 
be  on  the  alert,  and  carefully  observe  the  relation  of  these  and 
similar  words  to  the  rest  of  the  language  where  they  may 
occur. 


Pow-QviVi\ 

Large 

Broad 

Mass-ivG 

Sad-\j 

Ter-v\\AQ 

PosAtivQ 

SlowAj 

Brill-ismt 

Sub-WmQ 

Beau-i\h\\ 

Daz-z\mg 

Tig-QV 

Lord-ly 

In-l\OQQX\t 

JfoTi-strous 

Pret'iilj 

Beast 

Meehlj 

Hor-YihlQ 

Ang-vWj 

Joy -ous 

Dove 

SparMing 

Glo-Y\o\x^ 

Grasp-mg 

Feev-ish 

Ea,  g\Q 

Scorn-ful 

Burst-'mg 

'Ener-get-io 

Firm-ly 

Man 

Aw-iul 

Mag-?i^/'-icent 

GESTURE. — POSITION. 

Gesture  is  rather  subordinate  to  vocality,  but  yet  well- 
timed,  discriminating  movements  add  much  vigor  and  ex- 
pression to  the  language.  All  gestures  should  be  flowing, 
graceful;  well  out  from  the  shoulders,  not  from  the  elbows. 
The  arms  should  be  lifted  boldly,  not  mincint^ly.  Do  not 
push  tliem  out  in  angles,  but  lift  them  out  in  curves. 

Position. — Stand  erect,  slioulders  thrown  well  back. 
Brace  one  foot  firmly  to  the  floor,  the  other  only  lightly 
touching.     When  standing  in  the   ordinary  position,  have  the 


ACTION— GESTURE.  109 

feet  moderately  apart,  the  foot  in  front  at  an  angle  of  forty - 
five  degrees  from  the  other,  at  a  distance  of  about  four  to  six 
inches,  sufficient  to  feel  firm  and  solid.  When  walking  on  the 
stage  do  not  mincingly  bend  the  knees,  nor  stride ;  but  take 
the  mean  between  thes3  extremes,  by  gracefully  lifting  the 
l^wer  limbs  sideways,  with  the  toes  turned  out. 

The  following  six  gestures  are  designed  more  particularly 
for  pupils  of  classes  personally  taught  by  Mr.  Frobisher  ;  the 
exercises  after  these  for  all  persons.  [Note. — Make  the  hands 
feel  heavy  while  practising.] 

1st  Exercise. — Arms  out  in  front,  horizontally,  palms 
touching  ;  swing  back  and  forth  with  firmness. 

2d  Exercise. — Arms  down  at  side ;  swing  above  the  head 
and  down  again  rapidly,  a  number  of  times.  These  exercises 
give  firmness  to  the  arms. 

1st  Gesture. — Hands  curved  naturally,  and  down  by  the 
side;  out  in  front;  curving  the  arms,  carry  out  to  side;  turn 
hands  over  and  down  to  side. 

2d  Gesture. — Hands  from  sides  across  the  body,  fore- 
fingers touching ;  raise  hands  and  arms  vertically ;  turn 
palms  of  hands  up;  carry  hands  out;  turn  over;  down  to 
side. 

3d  Gesture. — Crook  hands  at  sides ;  push  boldly  out  in 
front;  lift  hands  and  arms  perpendicularly;  let  hands  fall 
back;  push  forward;  out  to  extreme;  turn  over;  down  to 
side. 

4th  Gesture. — Curve  arms  over  to  the  breast  like  two 
circles ;  turn  the  face  to  one  side,  hands  to  the  other ;  alter- 
nate the  action  a  number  of  times. 

5th  Gesture. — Hands  to  sides,  pointing  downward ;  raise 
out  to  shoulders ;  arms  and  hands  to  top  of  the  head,  turning 
the  backs  of  the  hands  to  heai  ;  point  out ;  alternate  in  this 
way  till  the  movement  becomes  easy. 

6th  Gesture. — Hands  from  side  lifted  out  straight,  level 
with  the  shoulders;  palms  down;  hands  brought  in;  right 
hand  across  the  left ;  the  left  brought  over  the  right ;  turn 
backs  of  the  hands  to  the  body,  and  push  out  boldly;  turn 
the  hands  over ;  hands  down  to  the  side. 

[Note. — Hands  at  side  when  not  used  in  gesticulating.] 


110  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

3d  Exercise. — Hands  and  arms  out  horizontally  to  the 
shoulders ;  clinch  the  hands,  projecting  the  thumbs ;  turn 
the  thumbs  under  as  far  as  possible ;  rapidly  twist  the  hands 
and  arms. 

4th  Exercise. — H^mds  and  arms  up  perpendicular  from 
the  sides,  above  the  head ;  clinch  the  hands,  the  thumbs  pro- 
jecting ;  twist  the  hands  and  arms  rapidly. 

5th  Exercise. — Manipulate  the  fingers  and  wrists  to  make 
them  flexible  and  graceful  in  movement.  (Perpendicular  and 
horizontal,  prone  and  supine,  inward  and  outward.) 

exercises. 

a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oi,  on.  Ba  !  he  I  M  /  do  !  hu  f  hoi  f  hou  !  1, 
2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12,  13,  14,  15,  16,  IT,  18,  19,  20. 

First  Gesture. — "Friends,  Romans,  countrymen." 

"  Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean !  " 

Second. — '*  O  Heaven !  "    he   cried,   "  my    bleeding  country 
save !  " 
"  All  hail,  thou  lovely  queen  of  night !  " 

Third.—''  Oh,  forbid  it,  Heaven !  " 

"To  tell  thee  how  I  hate  thy  beams,  0  Sun  I  " 
Fourth, — "I  scorn  such  an  action." 

"  I  warn  you,  do  not  dare  to  pass  it." 
i^^/*iJ^.— "  An  honest  man,  my  neighbor,  there  he  stands." 

"  'T  was  you  that  took  it." 
Sixth. — "  He  woke  to  die  'midst  flame  and  smoke." 

"  Round  me  the  smoke  and  shout  of  battle  roll." 

Note. — Grief,  Doubt,  Shame  and  the  darker  emotions  require  a  downward 
action  and  gesture,  with  the  hands  prone.  Expressions  of  Joy,  Hope  and  the 
lighter  passions  have  an  upward  action,  with  the  hands  supine.  Nearness  of 
objects  has  a  supine  position  of  the  hands ;  distance  of  objects  has  a  prone, 
somewhat  elevated,  horizontal  direction  of  gesture.  A  reference  to  Liberty  and 
expressions  of  triumph  have  a  high,  bold,  sweeping  style  of  action  and  gestureu 


ACTION    AND    GESTURE. 


Ill 


AOTION.-GESTURE. 
(feom  Austin's  ohieonomia.) 


FINGERS. 

n.  natural 

c.  clinch 'd  (fist) 
X.  extended 

i.  index 

1.  collected  (to  thumb) 

h.  holding  (object) 

w.  hollowed  up 

m.  thumb  up 

g.  grasping 

PALM. 

p.  prone 

s.  supine 

n.  inward  (to  body) 

o    outward 

V.  vertical 

f.  forward 

b.  backward 

ARMS. 

d.  downward 
h.  horizontal 

e.  elevated 
z.  zenith 

r.  rest 

ARMS  TRANSVERSE. 

c.  across 

f.  forward 
q.  oblique 
X.  extended 
b.  backward 


MOTION. 

X.  extreme 

c.  contracted 
m.  moderate 

DIRECTION. 

a.  ascends 

d.  descends 
r.  right 

1.  left 
f.  forward 

b.  backward 
V.  revolve 

i.  inward 
o.  outward 


n.  noting 
p.  project 
w.  wave 
fl.  flourish 
sw.  sweep 
bk.  beckon 
rp.  repress 
ad.  advance 
sp.  spring 
St.  strike 
pr.  press 
rt.  retract 
rj.  reject 
bn.  bend 
re.  recoil 
sh.  shake 


th.  throw 
cl.  clinch 
11.  collect 

FACE. 

I.  incline 

E.  erect 
As.  assent 
Dn.  deny 
Sh.  shake 
Ts.  toss 

S.  aside 

F.  forward 
A.  avert 
D.  down 
U.  up 

K.  around 
Y.  vacancy 

FEET. 

(Below  line.) 
K.  1.  right  1st 
R.  2.  right  2d 
L.  1.  left  1st 
L.  2.  left  2d 
R.  F.  right  front 
L.  F.  left  front 
K.  kneeling 
S.  aside 
X.  extended 
m.  X.  moderate 
X.  X.  extreme 
C.  contracted. 


112 


VOICE   AND   ACTIOIS'. 


STEPS. 

rmaEES  of  both 

MARGINAL. 

a.  advance 

HANDS. 

Ap.  appealing 

r.  retire 

ap.  applied 

At.  attention 

tr.  traverse 

Ip.  clasped 

Yn.  veneration 

c.  across 

cr.  crossed 

Ls.  listening 

s.  start 

Id.  folded 

Lm.  lamenting 

sp.  stamp 

in.  inclosed 

Dp.  deprecating 

sh.  shock 

wr.  wrung 

Pr.  pride 

tc.  touching 

Sh.  shame 

HANDS. 

nu.  enumerate. 

Av.  aversion 

(placed.) 

0.  commanding 

E.  eyes 

BOTH   ARMS. 

Ad.  admiration 

N.  nose 

en.  encumbered 

Hr.  horror 

L.  lips 

pd.  reposed 

Gr.  grief 

F.  forehead 

km.  akimbo 

Fr.  fear 

0.  chin 

B.  both  (precedes) 

En.  encouraging 

br.  breast 

&c.,  &c.,  &c. 

POSITIONS   OF   THE   FEET. 

•R.  1. — The  RigJit  foot  is  m.  fronts  with  the  leg  slightly  lent 
at  the  Tcnee^  while  the  body  rests  mainly  on  the  left. 

R.  2. — The  Right  foot  is  advanced  still  further  forward ; 
all  the  weight  of  the  body  is  brought  on  it,  while  the  left 
slightly  touches  the  floor,  only  on  one  side  of  it,  in  the  rear  of 
the  other. 

L.  1.  and  L.  2.  are  simply  changes  of  the  feet,  using  the  left 
instead  of  the  right.     They  are  merely  reverse  positions. 

EXPLANATIONS   OF   THE   MOST   DIFFICULT. 


Fingers. — Extended — Widely  parted  from  each  other. 
Arms. —  Wave — The  hand   is    waved   out  from  the   opposite 
shoulder,  across  the  body,  and  outstretched  to  ih^full 
length  of  the  arm. 

Flourish — Is  similar  to  the  motion  made  around  the 
head  when  one  is  hurrahing. 

Sweep — Is  similar  to  the  wave,  except  the  motion 
is  carried  down  toward  the  knee  to  full  extent,  and 
swept  out  high  in  the  air,  far  from  the  body. 


KOTATION    OF    GESTURE.  113 

jRepressing — Is  lifting  up  the  hand  above  shoulder 

and  then  pushing  palm  downward  toward  the  earth. 
Strihing — Is  similar  to  repressing,  except  the  latter 

has  a    percussive,   while  the   former  has  a  steady 

motion. 
Aems  Kepose — Is  simply   one  lying  above  the  other  without 

entwining. 
Recoiling — After  the  stroke  the  hand  returns. 
Spring — Complete  the  action  with  a  spring, 
Theowing— Throwing  the  gesture. 

LETTERS. 

First  set  is  for  the  Right  hand  and  arm.  Second  is  for  the 
Left,  preceded  by  a  dash  when  it  followa  the  first.  A  long 
dash  denotes  change  of  gesture  at  the  letter.  Small  dots  mean 
to  change  hands,  but  not  to  drop  except  at  periods.  Capital  let- 
ters at  the  commencement  denote  posture  of  the  head  and  eyes. 
Letters  below  the  line  indicate  a  change  of  the  feet  at  the 
word. 

EXEEOISES. 

(The  Gestures  in  these  may  seem  too  numerous.    They  are 
intended  merely  for  practice.) 

BATAN   TO   HIS   LEGIONS. 

veq — ptix  B  veq 

Princes,  potentates, 
B  sdq  B  veq a       vdq — vdo 

Warriors,  the  flower  of  heaven  !  once  yours,  now  lost, 

R.1. 

B  sdq  veq— phx 

If  such  astonishment  as  this  can  seize 

R2 

ehf— sdx  B  sdf 

Eternal  spirits  ;  or  have  ye  chosen  this  place, 

B  phf 

After  the  toil  of  battle,  to  repose, 

q 

Your  wearied  virtue  for  the  ease  you  find 

seq—shx 

To  slumber  here,  as  in  the  vales  of  heav'n  ? 

R  1 

vdc— vdq  veq— phx 

Or  in  this  abject  posture  have  you  sworn 

rLl  L2 


114  VOICE   AND  ACTION. 

B  veq 
T'  adore  the  Conqueror  ?  who  now  beholds 

aR2 

vhc  sw — phx 

Cherub  and  seraph  rolling  in  the  flood, 
R  1 

B  vec      B  phx 

"With  scattered  arms  and  ensigns,  till  anon 

R2 

B  seq  B  veq 

His  swift  pursuers  from  heav'n's  gates  discern 

Rl  R2 

B  sdq 

Th'  advantage,  and  descending,  tread  us  down, 

ceq — cdx 

Thus  drooping,  or  with  linked  thunderbolts 

cdf— cdb 

Transfix  us  to  the  bottom  of  this  gulf  ? 

veq— phx   B  veq  B  sdq        B  R 

Awake,  arise,  or  be  forever  fall'n  I 

Rl 


GBAT'S   ELEGY. 


Ls    veq vhx  a Bpef— 


The  curfew  tolls — the  knell  of  parting  day  I 

aR2 
F  phf q X 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea ; 
rRl 

.    .    .    —phf q  ^        Bveq 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 


Bnef- 


And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 


R     Bphc- 


Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 


Bvef- 


And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 


Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 

vef  rt  phf  p  R 

And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds: 

aR2 


— ieq  n 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
Rl 


ACTION   AND   GESTURE.  115 

— veq  U    — seb 

The  mopiDg  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

r  L  1 

— shq 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 

—veq p 

Molest  her  ancient,  solitary  reign. 

eM  n — shf  n 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew  tree's  shade, 

B  bdf  a vhf 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mould'ring  heap, 

D  a B  nef  sp ■ 

Each    in    his    narrow    cell    for    ever    laid, 

F         B  phf d  BR. 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

shf  veq  w 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

rRl 


leq- 


The  swallow,  twitt'ring  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

idq  ^  veq  w 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn. 


-Bnefsp  Bsdfd 


1^0  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed, 

aR2 

shf 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
rRl 

vhf 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care, 

B  shf  p 

Nor  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 

aR2 
Bnefa        D  P  Bshfn 

Or  climb  his  knees,  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

rRl 
phc- 


0ft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield ; 

sdf  St 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 

sec    sw phq  sp 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield  I 

ceb    bn chf  st 

How  bow'd  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 


116  YOICE    AND   ACTION. 


Let  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

rLl 

pef: pdf  d 

Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure ; 


Nor  grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 

rRl 


The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

vef  sp  ief  fl 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  pow'r, 

aE-2 

Bshfp q 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Bvhq  eh 

Await,  alike  the  inevitable  hour — 

rRl 


a vef a d       sdq  n  R 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

aR2 


Bplic- 


ITor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
rLl 

veq  w 

If  mem'ry  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 

L2 


vhf     p 


"Where,  thro'  the  long-drawn  aisle,  and  fretted  vault, 

a B  nef- a d B  R 

The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

ihf — vhq  n 

Can    storied    urn,    or    animated    bust, 

rRl 


-BL  tc oq 


Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 


a v«q d  sdf    R 

Can  honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 

aR2 

B  shf  Bh  a vef ^vdf  p 

Or  flatt'ry  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death  ? 


idf- 


Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 
rRl 

br    R  veq  w 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 


ACTION   AND   GESTUEE.  117 

B  nef B  sLf  st 

Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 

pec  sw veq  ew 

Or  wak'd  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 


8hf  d" 


But  knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 

phc- 


Eich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 

B  vhf  rt rp q 

Chill  penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 

B  vhq  c  B  nhf  p  B  br 

And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

ihf 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene, 


-Bpdfd-- 


The  dark  unfithomed  caves  of  ocean  bear; 

aE,2 

shq — p 

Full  many  a  flow'r  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 


phc- 


And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

vef  br R 

Some  village  Hampden  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 

rLl 

ibf  veq  w 

The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood ; 

a B  nef d B  sdf 

Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton,  here  may  rest ; 

all2 


BvMr 


Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 
iRl 


B  shf  p" 


The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 

pbf    p a  a vef— rj 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

B  pbc q B  vbx  sp 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

B  she q X 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

pbfBt    R.  phc-- 


Their  lot  forbade — nor  circumscrib'd  alone 

X  B  vhf  rt 

Their  growing  virtues ;  but  their  crimes  confin'd, 


118  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


B  bdfad vhf- 


Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 

B  vhf  p a d B  R 

And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind. 


THE  MISER  AND   PLUTUS. 
R  B  vhf  r q  peqn— pdq 

The  wind  was  high — the  window  shakes ; 

a  E,2 
veqc—  vhx  c 

With  sudden  start  the  miser  wakes  I 
s  B  Ix 

F  pdc  ad ^phq 

Along  the  silent  room  he  stalks ; 

all2 
B        vhx— vhq  o      B  vhf  tr 

Looks  back,  and  trembles  as  he  walks  I 

sRlx 
vhq— — vhx 

Each  lock,  and  ev'rj  bolt  he  tries, 

a  L2 

Bhq  o —  .    .  —she  i 

In  ev'ry  creek,  and  corner,  pries ; 
aR2 


B  pdq- 


Then  opes  his  chest  with  treasure  stor'd, 

D  B  seq 

And  stands  in  rapture  o'er  his  hoard ; 

R2 

Bvhfo 

But  now  with  sudden  qualms  possest, 

rRl 

Id  hf- a ^Idbr 

He  wrings  his  hands ;  he  beats  his  breast — 

g  br— — veq 

By  conscience  stung  he  wildly  stares ; 

B  shf  sh 

And  thus  his  guilty  soul  declares ; 

B  sdf  d n 

Had  the  deep  earth  her  stores  confin'd, 

aR2 
br    R 

This  heart  had  known  sweet  peace  of  mind ; 
R  1 

vhf— vhx       U    Bsef  sp a 

But  virtue's  sold  I     Good  Gods  what  price 

aR  2 
F    R 

Can  recompense  the  pangs  of  vice  ? 


ACTION   AND    GESTURE.  119 


Bsdfd- 


O  bane  of  good !    seducing  cheat ! 

rRl 
Bvhf vef  Bhfst— sdq 

Can  man,  weak  man,  thy  power  defeat  ? 

Beb  8W — sdq 

Gold  banish'd  honour  from  the  mind, 

rLl 
br    R 

And  onlj  left  the  name  behind ; 


B  pbc-- 


Gold  sow'd  the  world  with  every  ill ; 

ceb  8h cdq 

Gold  taught  the  murd'rer's  sword  to  kill : 

Llx 

Shfsb— sdq 

'Twas  gold  instructed  coward  hearts 

all2x 
B  vhf  rj 

In  treach'ry's  more  pernicious  arts. 

rRl 

seq— sdq 

Who  can  recount  the  mischiefs  o'er  ? 

R2 

Bpdf    d 

Virtue  resides  on  earth  no  more  I 


BETJTUS   ON  THE   DEATH   OF   O.ESAE. 
B  sM p q vex  sp      B  nef  B  shf  st 

Eomans,  countrymen,  and  lovers !  hear  me  for  my  cause ; 

aR2  rRl 

pef— phx  pMst        R  Bshfp 

and  be  silent  that  you  may  hear.    Believe    me  for    mine 

aR2 
br    R  br  pr     veq  sp  B  shf  n 

honour;  and  have  respect  unto  mine  honour  that  you  may 

D  B  pef  ^  B  nhx  B  vef  sp 

believe.     Censure  me  in  your  wisdom ;  and  awake  your  senses 

rRl 
B  shf  n  B        she x 

that  you  may  the  better  judge.     If  there   be   any  in  this  as- 

sdfd  vefpp  br    R 

sembly,  any  dear  friend  of  Osesar's,  to  him  I  say  that  Brutus' 

aR2  rRl 

shfst  ief- 


love  to  CaBsar,  was  no  less  than  his.    If,  then,  that  friend  de- 

n       veq  B  shf  p q 

mand  why  Brutus  rose  against  Osesar,  this  is  my  answer :  not 


120  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

nef  slif  st  B  veq  w 

that  I  loved  Osesar  less,  but  that  I  loved  Eome  more.     Had 

slif  p  peq  sp  plif  st 

you  rather  Oaesar  were  living,  and  die  all  slaves,  than  that 

r  Ll 

B  shf  st  B  nhx  sef 

Oaasar  were  dead,  and  live  all  freemen  ?    As  Csesar  loved  me, 

all2 
E— R  veq  w  hr 

I  weep  for  him;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it;    as  he 
rLl 

veq — vhq        B  sdf  d  cef  cM  sf 

was  valiant,  I  honour  him ;  but,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew 

L2  a  E2 

D  B  nef  shf  d    U  br    R  veq  w        D  B  pef 

him.     There  are  tears  for  his  love,  joy  for  his  fortune,  honour 

rRl 

B  veq  sp  ceb  chf  sh    BR  shf  p 

for  his  valor,  and  death  for  his  ambition.     Who's  here  so  base 

rLl  aR2 

ohc xrj  pef         pdfst  ihfrc 

that  would  be  a  bondman  ?     If  any,  speak ;   for  him  have  I 

R  phc X 

offended.    Wlio's  here  so  rude  that  would  not  be  a  Roman  ? 

rRl 

shf n  vef  sp 

If  any,  speak;    for  him  have  I  offended.       Who's  here  so 

B  vhf  p  B  veq  w  B  shf  n  A 

vile  that   will  not  love  his   country  ?      If  any,   speak ;  for 

rLl 

B  vhf  sh  BR  veq  w 

him  have  I  offended.    I  pause  for  a  reply.    None!     Then 

she  sw  shf  n 

none   have   I   offended.    I  have   done   no   more  to   Osesar, 

aR2 

nef  br R  a ihfn 

than  you  should  do  to  Brutus.     The  question  of  his  death 

rLl 


phfd- 


is  enrolled   in  the   Capitol ;  his  glory  not  extenuated  where- 

vef  sp 


in  he   was   worthy;    nor  his  offences  enforced,  for   which 

a — phf  st  B  ihb    .    .    .  she        F  she      shb 

he  suffered  death.     Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark 

rRl 
n  shf    R 

Antony,  who,  though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall  re- 


ACTIOlSr    AND   GESTUEE.  121 

nef  shfn 

ceive  the  benefit  of  his  dying, — a  place  in  the  commonwealth ; 

B  she q X  B  nef B  E, 

as  which  of  you  shall  not.      With  this,  I  depart:    that,  as  I 

a  B  2  r  E  1 

cef  B  shf  n 

slew  my  best  lover  for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same 

rL  1 

chf  sh  br  st    E,  a B  pef- 


dagger  for  myself,  when  it  shall  please  my  country  to  need 

rEl 
BEst 

my  death. 

FROM  TJU^-g's  night   THOUGHTS. 
TJ  vefn        F  B  nef 

The  bell  strikes  one.     We  take  no  note  of  time 

aE2  rEl 

Bshfst  U  ief 

But  from  its  loss  :  to  give  it  then  a  tongue 

shfn  V    Bphq 

Is  wise  in  man.     As  if  an  angel  spoke, 

U    br    E  ihf 

1  feel  the  solemn  sound.     If  heard  aright 

ief -idq E  st 

It  is  the  knell  of  my  departed  hours. 

E  B  vhc q  rt B  vhf  p 

Where  are  they?     With  the  years  beyond  the  flood. 

Y  ieq  phf  st 

It  is  the  signal  that  demands  despatch  : 

Bphfx  Bvhq- 


How  much  is  to  be  done !     My  hopes,  and  fears 


Start  up  alarmed,  and  o'er  life's  narrow  verge 

aR2 

I)  B  pbf  st  B  nef  sp- 


Look  down — on  what?     A  fathomless  abvss, 

rEl 
-B  vef  p a B  E  st 


k 


A  dread  eternity  !  how  surely  mine, 

vef  br  .  .  . 

And  can  eternity  belong  to  me, 

•  .  .  .—vef  B  nef— B  E 

Poor  pensioner  on  the  bounties  of  an  hour? 

U  nef  c     F        shf  st    A        ohc— vhf  o    F    B  veqw 

How  poor,  how  rich,  how  abject,  how  august, 
6 


122  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


B  vhc- 


How  complicate,  how  wonderful  is  man ! 

U  a  Bvefsp d  BR 

How  passing  wonder  He  who  made  him  such! 

B  tc  br B  nhx  sp 

Who  center'd  in  our  make  such  strange  extremes! 


B  vhc- 


From  different  natures,  marvellously  mix'd, 


B  nef  rt pef  p- 


Connexion  exquisite  of  distant  worlds! 

shf  p a -nef  sp 

Bistinguish'd  link  in  being's  endless  chain! 


Midway  from  nothing  to  the  Deity ! 

tJ  shf  vhf vef 

A  beam  ethereal,  sullied,  and  absorpt ! 


(1 phf  St a vef  sp— vhx 

Though    sullied,    and    dishonor'd,    still    divine! 

vMc  U  veq    w 

Dim  miniature  of  greatness  absolute! 

B  nef d B  sdf  n 

An  heir  of  glory  !     a  frail  child  of  dust ! 

F  B  phf        U  B  veq  sp  D  idf        U  veq  w 

Helpless      immortal  I       insect      infinite ! 


idf    n       U    vef  sp  B  shf  sh— 


A  worm!  a  God!     I  tremble  at  myself, 

V  Bbr  vef    br 

And  in  myself  am  lost.     At  home,  a  stranger, 

U  r  st— B V         vef    sp— .  .  .—vhx  sp 

Thought  wanders  up  and  down,  surpris'd,  aghast, 

V  B  vhf  Bh  B  vec x 

And  wond'ring  at  her  own.     How  reason  reels ! 

vefc  phfn       br    II 

O  what  a  miracle  to  man  is  man, 

B  vef  w B  B  vef  sp  vhf  sh 

Triumphantly  distressed!  what  joy  !  what  dread! 

Bshfp  Bvhfrt 

Alternately  transported,  and  alarm'd ! 

rBl 

B  br  B  vhc x 

"What  can  preserve  my  life  ?  or  wliat  destroy  ? 


-nef  sp  d pdf  n 


An  angel's  arm  can't  snatch  me  from  the  grave, 

B  veq  w .  B  nef B  sdf  st 

Legions  of  angels  can't  confine  me  there. 


THE  PASSIOKS. 


r  Trnnquillity 
Cheerfulness 
-}  Mirth 
I  Delight 

[Joy 


f  Love 
J  Desire 

[  Grief 

S  Sadness  (silent) 

\  Melancholy  (settled) 


Pity 


Hope 

Confidence  (success  of  hope) 

Courage 

Boasting  (exaggerated  courage) 

Pride — Obstinacy  (dogged  sourness) 

Contempt 

Scorn  or  Derision 


I  Hatred 
Aversion  )  j,^^^ 


Sorrow 


Terror 
Surprise 
Wonder 
Admiration  (approving) 


'  Anger - 
Rage 
I  Fury 


Remorse         "1 
Complaining    I 


Peevishness  (little) 
Envy  (moderate) 
'\  Malice  (continued) 
I  Reproach  (settled) 
y  Revenge  (open) 


Yexation 


C  Perplexity 
<  Irresolution 
(  Anxiety 


C  Sorrow 
^Despair        <  Hopes 
\  Distraction  (  Fears 

i  Fatigue 

<  Fainting 

(  Death  (ends  all) 


1.  Love 

2.  Fear 

8.  Suspicion 
4.  Hatred 
6.  Hope 

6.  Sliame  (sentiment) 

7.  Anxiety 


8.  Grief 

9.  Envy 

10.  Pride 

11.  Rage 

12.  Revenge 

13.  Despair 

14.  Distraction 

15.  Madness  and  Death 


124 


YOICE    AND   ACTION. 


SENTIMENTS. 

Eaillerj,  Sneering,  Modesty,  Submission,  Shame,  Authority, 
Gravity,  Inquiry,  Teaching,  Arguing,  Admonition,  Command- 
ing, Forbidding,  Denying.  Affirming,  Differing,  Agreeing, 
Judging,  Eeproving,  Acquitting,  Condemning,  Pardoning,  Dis- 
missing, Refusing,  Giving,  Granting,  Promising,  Gratitude, 
Curiosity,  Respect,  Exhorting,  Commendation,  Sickness,  Per- 
suading, Tempting,  Affectation,  Sloth,  Intoxication,  Dotage, 
Folly,  &c.,  &c. 


1 . TEANQUILLIT  Y. 


Body — composed. 
Face — open. 
Forehead — smooth. 


Eyelrows — arched. 
Mouth — nearly  sliut. 
Eyes — pass  easily  about. 


2. — OHEEEFULNESS. 

(Adds  a  smile  to  tranquillity,) 
Body — moves  slightly.  |    Voice — pure,  high. 


Head — thrown  back. 
Mouth — open. 
Cheehs — hiizh,  dimple. 
J^ostrils — dravrn  up. 


(See  Collins'  Ode.) 


3. — ^MIETH. 


Eyes — nearly   closed,  tears 

flow,  twinkle. 
Features — flushed. 
Body — convulsed,  hold  sides, 

shake. 


-DELIGHT— JOY. 


Face — open,  smiles,  glows. 

Voice — pure,  Ijigh. 

Brows — raised. 

Eyes — heavenward,  full,  live- 
ly, brisk,  quick,  glancing, 
clear. 

Voice — quick,  sweet,  clear. 


(  When  Violent^ 

Nostrils — expanded. 

J5an6?«— clapped,  waved. 

Body — springs  exultingly. 

(Extreme) — transport,  semi- 
delirious,  rapture,  ecstacy, 
folly,  eyes  strained  to  almost 
wildness,  sorrow,  nearly 
madness. 


THE  passio:ns. 


125 


Face — serene,  smiles. 
Mouth — little  open. 
Uyes — languish,  half  shut. 
Body — all  tenderness. 


Hands — entreating,   clasp    to 
breast,  declare ;  right  hand 
to  heart. 
Forehead — smooth,  enlarged. 
Brows — arched. 
Voice — pure,  high,  melting. 
BemarTcs. — Longs  to  be  agreeable  ;  respectful,  fears,  dotes  ; 
delicate  complaining,  tender  reproach,  reverent  rapture  ;  eager, 
joyous,  hesitating,  confused,  reposing,  winning,  soft,  persuasive, 
flattering,  pathetic  ;  if  unsuccessful,  anxiety  and  melancholy. 

(SeeEomeo  and  Juliet,  ShaJcs.) 


Body — forward.  ' 
Legs — advance. 
Arms — out  to  grasp. 
Face — smiling. 


BemarJcs.- 
distress.) 


Brows — raised. 
Mouth— open. 

Voice — lively,  pure,  suppliant, 
high. 
-Eager,  wistful,  fluent,  copious,  (except  sighs  in 


7. — GEIEF   OE   SOEEOW. 


Co  untenance — d  ej  ected. 

Eead—RviW^  down. 

Lips — swelled,  quiver. 

Eyes — down. 

Arms — loose,  sometimes  little 

raised,  suddenly  fall. 
Hands — open,  sometimes  clas- 
ped, wrung. 
Fingers — spread. 
Voice — pure,    high,    or  low, 
plaintive,  long  sighs,  weeps, 
sometimes  scarcely  breathe, 
interrupted. 

Bemarlcs, — Throws  itself  upon  the  ground  and  seems  to  bor- 
der on  phrensy  ;  high  pitch ;  silence  ;  abrupt  extremes ;  parox- 
ysm, suffocation. 


{Excessive.') 

Face — deadly  pale. 

Countenance— dii&toTtQ^, 

(ngony.) 
Voice — loud,  complaining, 

even  shrieks. 

Hands — wrung,  beat  head  and 
breast,  tear  the  hair. 


126 


VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


8. — SADNESS   AND   MELANCHOLY. 

Lower  Jaw — ^falls.  |   Remarlc, — habitual  preying. 


9. PITT. 


Yoke — compassionate,  tender. 
Countenance— 2iS  in  pain. 
Mouth — open. 

Eyes — raise  and  fall  mourn- 
inglj. 


Hands — raise  and  fall. 
Brows — drawn     down,     con- 
tracted. 
Features — togetl.'  er. 


Bemarls, — Love  for  the  object,  grief  for  its  sufferings. 


10. — HOPE. 


Countenance — up,  bright,  joy- 
ous. 
Moutli — dimples  into  smiles. 
Arms — spread. 
Hands — open  as  if  to  clasp. 
Hyes — bright,  eager,  wistful. 
RemarTc. — Desire  and  Joy. 


Body — bent  forward. 

Head — raised. 

Voice — plaintive,   inclines  to 

eagerness. 
Breath — strongly    drawn    in 

earnest  anticipation. 


1 1 . — COUEAGE — CONEIDENCE. 


Legs — firm,  advance. 
Head — erect. 
Breast — pr  oj  ected . 
Lungs — inflated. 
Hand — sometimes  out. 
J^ostrils — wide. 
Countenance — open,  clear. 


Voice  —  firm,  even ,  str on  g, 
clear,  sonorous,  full,  bold; 
accents  round,  sometimes 
percussive  in  expression. 

-So^Zy— graceful,    noble  in 
mien. 


12. — BOASTING. 

Face — red. 
Mouth — pouts. 
Eyes — stare. 

Voice — bombastic,  hollow, 
loud. 


Arms — akimbo. 
Fists — menace. 
Feet — stamp. 
Legs — stride. 
Head — back,  (pride.) 
Brows — down. 

i?^war>^s.— Exaggerated,  blustering  courage.— See  FalstaflE 
in  Shaks.  Hen.  lY. 


ANA^LYSIS    OF   THE   PASSIONS. 


12T 


13. PEIDE. 

Head — ^back,  pompous. 
Eyes — full,  lofty,  (anger.) 
Brows — ^(considerably)  down. 
Hands — on  hips. 
Elbows — for  w  ar  d. 


(self-esteem.) 

Mouth — pouting. 
Li]}8 — contracted. 
Z^P's— distant,  stately  stride. 
Voice — slow,  stiflp,  bombastic, 
important,  with  affectation. 


14. — DOGGED   SULLENNESS. 

Obstinacy,  contempt,  scorn,  disdain.     (Very  similar  to  pride.) 


16.— 
Body — drawn  back  to  avoid. 
Face — turned  away. 
Eyes — angry,  frown. 
^roii?5— -contracted. 
Teeth — set. 

Hands — spread  out  to    keep 
off. 


■HATEED. 

Lips — upper  drawn  up  in  dis- 
dain. 

Voice — guttural,  low,  loud, 
harsh,  unequal,  chiding, 
surly,  vehement,  sentences 
short,  abrupt,  percussive. 


EemarTc, — Aversion — similar  to  Hatred. 


16. — FEAE,    TEEEOE, 

Brows — cold  sweat ;  high. 
Eyes — wide,  fixed,    wildly 

searching. 
Mouth  —wide. 
Li'ps — convulsive. 
Nose — shortened. 
Cheeh — with  tremor. 
Face — wild,  deadly  pale. 
Throat — gulping  and  catching. 
^^6?!/— shrinks,    trembles    to 

fly. 

Elboics—Sit  sides. 
Hands — open,  lifted, 
i^mp'^r^— -spread  up  to  breast 
to  shield. 


OOlvTSTEEXATION. 

Limbs — strained  with  anguish. 

Feet — one  back  to  start. 

N'ecJs —  active. 

Shoulders — moving. 

Chest — elevated. 

Heart — beats  violently. 

Breast — with  spasms. 

Steps — furtive. 

Breath — quick,  short,  impe- 
ded, gasping. 

Voice — feeble,  husky,  aspira- 
ted, explosive,  tremulous. 


Eemarhs.—FesLY  with  surprise,  sentences  short,  incoherent. 


VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


17. — BONDER,    SURPEISE,    AMAZEMENT. 

(Uncommon  object  suddenly  seen.) 


Eyes — open,  prominent. 
Mouth — open. 
Body — fixedj   contracted, 
stooping. 


Hands — lifted  as  in  Fear ;  if 
hold  anything,  let  drop  un- 
consciously. 

Voice — first  low,  but  energetic 
on  each  word  :  sometimes 
aspirated. 


18. — ADMIRATIOIT. 


Mouth — open. 
Tongue — seen. 
I'eeth — lower  edge  seen, 
^roi^— expanded,   gently 
raised. 


Eyes — raised. 
Face — smiles. 

Hands — lifted  or  clapped ;  ex- 
tend ed. 
Voice — rapturous. 


Bemarlcs. — Sight  enjoyed  to  utmost,  all  else  forgotten  ;  de- 
sire of  excellence ;  if  object  come  slowly  and  gently,  (appro- 
bation and  wonder.) 

19. — EEMOESE. — {Painful  Bemenibrance?) 
Countenance — cast  down,  clouded  by  anxiety,  pale,  turgid. 
Head — ^hung  down,  shaken  with  regret. 
J^ostrils — inflated  to  utmost. 
^row — furrowed,  knit. 
Hyes^ust  raised-  as  if  to  look  up,  suddenly  down  on  ground ; 

unsteady;  eye-balls  strained,  hirge ;  sometimes  tears. 
Voice— sighs ;  low,  harsh, (Hatred,)  reproachful;  (excess,)  strong, 

through  teeth  as  in  inward  pain,  aspirated. 


Teeth — gnashed. 

Lips — swell. 

Mouth — opens  at  the  corners, 

tremblingly. 
Hands — The   right  beats  the 

breast. 


Hair — rises    in    the    anguish 

of  feeling. 
Body — writhes  as  if  with   self 

aversion  ;  every  joint  seems 

to  curse ;   knees  sometimes 

bent,  humble. 


20. — Yexation. — (Perplexity,  Complaint,  Fretting,  Remorse.) 


ANALYSIS    OF   THE   PASSIONS. 


129 


21. PEEPLEXITY. 


Body — collected  as  for  thought- 
ful consideration. 
Arms — on  breast. 
Hands— {2it  times)  to  eyes. 


Head — upon  breast. 
Hyes — down. 
Z^ps— pursed  together. 
Mouth — shut. 


Eemaeks. — Quick,  slow ;  pauses  long ;  broken,  uneven,  sud- 
denly altered,  new  discovery ;  then  contemplating;  restless; 
walks  about,  talks  to  self,  keeps  half,  expresses  half. 


22. ANGEB. 


Head — strained. 
Eye8—\)\xvTi, 
Teeth — gnash. 
Brows — w  rinkled. 
Nose — large,  heaves. 
Mouth — open    ( towards 

ears.) 
Muse  les — strain  ed. 
Veins — swollen. 


the 


ITeck — stretched. 

Head — forward. 

Fists — clinched. 

Feet — stamp. 

Body — violent  agitation. 

Fm'c^— strong,  high, loud; (un- 
common) low ;  (excess)  as- 
piration ;    (violent)  percus- 


Kemaeks. — Sudden  hatred,  injury. 

23. — Eage  and    Fuet — Anger  veet  high,  extinguishing 
humanity. 

24. — Envy. — (Moderate  Anger),  Peevishness  (little),  Ee- 
peoaoh  (settled),  Eevenge  (open). 

25. — eepeoaoh. 

Body — Aversion.  i   Voice — ^low. 

Head Shaken,  abhorring! y. 

Eemaeks. — Casting  censures  in  one's  teeth 


26. — Eevenge. — Like   Malice,   Eemoese  (more  open)  to 
injure,  triumph ;   loud,  exulting. 


130 


VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


27. — MALICE. — {Spite.) 


Elbows — bent,     strained     to 

body. 
Voice — lower  than  anger. 


•s — set. 
Teeth— gndi^h. 
Fists — clinched. 
Eyes — flash,  blast. 
Mouth — stretched  horizontal- 

Remarks. — Watching  to  return  injury. 

28. — Despair — Sorrow  tossed  by  Hope  and  Fear  (settled); 

lo.  s  of  all  hope. 

Forehead — clouded. 

Eyes — roll  frightfully,  some- 
times fixed  ;  see  nothing ; 
insensible. 

Body — violently  strained,  agi- 
tated. 

Brows — down. 

Mouth — open,  horizontally. 

Lips — bite  them. 

N'ose — widens. 

Teeth — gnash. 

Remare:s.--Too  frightful  to  dwell  on. 
(grand,  terrific,  not  mean.) 


Voice — groans  ;  inward  tor- 
ture ;  words  few,  sullen, 
bitter,  (sometimes  and  often 
loud,)  furious,  in  same  note, 
{excess^)  aspirated. 

Elbows — bent  (at  times). 

Fists — clinched. 

Muscles — swelled. 

Veins — swelled. 

Shin — livid. 


Terrible  warning ; 


2  9 . — DISTRACTION-—  MADNESS. 


Features — distorted,  sharp. 

Teeth — gnash,  or  set. 

Shin — bound. 

Mouth — foams,  changes. 

Lips — sometimes  tight,  then 
relaxed  into  an  unmeaning 
smile ;  unharmonioiis  ex- 
pression of  all  the  features. 


Eyes—o^Qn  frightfully,  roll 
hastily,  wildly  about;  glar- 
ing. 

Body — violently  strained,  rolls 
in  the  dust. 

Muscles — Strong,  rigid. 

Voice — hideous ;  bellows,  exe- 
crates; fierce,  outrageous. 


Remarks. — No  mental  agony ;   utter  wreck ;   rushes  furi- 
ously on  all,  tears  and  destroys  itself. 


ANALYSIS    OF   THE   PASSIONS. 


131 


30. — FATIGUE. 

Voice — weak;  hardly  articu- 
late to  understand. 


Body — languid,  stoops. 
CountenaThce — dejected. 
Arms — listless. 

Legs — dragged  lieavilj,  seem 
to  bend. 


31. — F  ACTING. 

Body — suddenly  relaxed,  un-  i  Eyes — grow  dim,  roll  up  (as 

strung  in  all  [)arts,  drops.       1      insensible). 
Face — color  flies  from  cheek. 
Eemaeks. — Helpless,  senseless. 

32. — DEATH. — {Ends  all.) 
Remarks.— Similar  to  fainting. — "To   die — must  feel  its 
awful  shadow." 

33. — yen:eration. 


Head — ^little  raised,  most  ap- 
rently  timid,  dread. 

Eyes — lifted,  cast  down  again, 
closed. 

Body — profound  gi*avity,  com- 
posed, one  posture. 

Knees — ^bending  forward. 

Hands — open. 


Voice  —  Submissive,  timid, 
equable,  with  tremor,  weak, 
supplicating;  visible  anxi- 
ety ;  humble,  diffident,  hesi- 
tating. 

Brows — down  respectfully. 

Arms — out,  up  to  breast. 

Goun  tenance — cli  eerf ul . 


34. ^JEALOUSY. 

Love^  Hate^  Hope^  Fear  {Shame)^  Anxiety^  Grief  Suspicion^ 
Pity,  Envy,  Pride,  Page,  Cruelty,  Pemnge,  Pemorse,  Despair, 
Distraction,  Madness,  Death  {all  the  Passions). 


Countenance — lighted,  cloud- 
ed, composed,  &c.,  &c. 

Fists — clinched,  at  times. 

Eyelids — lifted  so  as  to  almost 
disappear. 

Body — hurrying,  at  times,  or 
quiet;  restless,  &c. 

Teeth — show. 


Eyes — Bloody,  rolling,  glare 
at  times,  or  darting,  furious. 

Mouth — tense,  lips  retract. 

Arms — folded  at  times. 

Brows — knit. 

Voice — piteous  at  times,  or 
roaring. 


132  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

Eemaeks. — Great  misery,  terrible  passion,  reflects  on  her 
charms,  then  her  deception,  destroys  both  her  and  himself. 
[See  Shaks.  Othello:\ 

Kemark. — Envy  is  sometimes  considered  small  Jealousy. 

EXAMPLES. 

3.  MiETH. — \_See  Shalcspeare's  Mercutio  in  Borneo  and  Juliet,] 

"  A  fool,  a  fool  I  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest. 
A  motley  fool,  a  miserable  varlet ; 
As  I  do  live  by  food  I  met  a  fool, 
Who  laid  him  down  and  'baslced  in  the  sun." 


4.  Joy.   {Inexpressible  madness,)  [See   Romeo  and  Juliet^  and 
Othello,] 

"  Imoinda,  oh !  this  separation 
Has  made  you  dearer,  if  it  can  be  so, 
Than  you  were  ever  to  me !    You  appear 
Like  a  kind  star  to  my  benighted  steps, 
To  guide  me  on  to  happiness^ 


4.  {Approaching  transports.) 

"  Oh  !  Joy,  thou  welcome  stranger,  twice  three  years, 
I  have  not  felt  thy  vital  beam,  but  now 
It  warms  my  veins,  and  plays  about  my  heart; 
A  -fiery  instinct  lifts  me  from  the  ground. 
And  I  could  mount  to  the  very  stars  with  rapture." 

5.  LOVE. — {Roraeo  and  Juliet). 

Bom.  "With  love's  light  wings  did  I  o'erperch  these  walls; 
For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out  : 
And  what  love  can  do,  that  dares  love  attempt, 
Therefore  thy  kinsmen  are  no  let  to  me." 

Jul,    "  If  they  do  see  thee,  they  will  murder  thee." 


EXAMPLES    OF    THE    PASSIONS.  133 

Eom.  "  Alack !  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye, 

Than  twenty  of  their  swords;  look  thou  but  sweet, 
And  I  am  proof  against  their  enmity." 

9.   PITY. 

*' Oh,  rose  of  May, — 
Dear  maid,  hind  sister^  sweet  Ophelia!" 

7.-GEIEF,    SOBEOW.  \  (««f  M)-MELANOHOLT. 
'  (  {silent) — SADNESS. 

SeemSj  madam,  nay  it  is ;  I  know  not  seems. 
'Tis  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother, 
Nor  customary  suits  of  solemn  black, 
Kor  windy  su>pirntion  of  forced  breath, 
1^0,  nor  the  fraitful  river  in  the  eye. 
Together  with  all  modes,  forms,  shows  of  grief, 
That  can  denote  me  truly. 

(Approaching  distraction.) 
Thou  canst  not  speak  of  what  thou  dost  not  feel ; 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  T,  Juliet  thy  love. 
An  hour  but  married,  Tybalt  murdered, 
Doating  like  me,  and  like  me  banished. 
Then  thou  mightst  tear  thy  hair,     *     * 
And  fall  upon  the  ground  as  I  do  now, 
(Manly. ) 
O  now  forever, 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind  ;  farewell  content, 
Farewell  the  plumed  troop  and  the  big  war, 
That  make  ambition  virtue !     O  farewell. 
Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump, 
The  spirit-stirring  drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife. 
The  royal  banner,  and  all  quality. 
Pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war  I 
Farewell  I  Othello's  occupation's  gone. 

10. — HOPE. 

If  I  miy  trust  the  flattery  of  sleep, 

My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  hand; 


134  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

Mj  bosom's  lord  sits  liglitly  on  his  throne ; 

And,  all  this  day,  an  unaccustomed  spirit 

Lifts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts. 

11. — COUEAGE. 

Now,  my  brave  lads — now  we  are  free  indeed ; 

I  have  a  whole  host  in  this  single  arm. 

Death  or  liberty  I  we  shall  not  leave  a  man  of  them  alive. 

12. — ^BOASTING. 

Perhaps  you  flatter  yourselves  with  an  honorable  death, 
that  you'll  fight  like  men,  and  die  like  heroes — you  think  so 
because  you  have  seen  Mooe  exult  amid  scenes  of  carnage  and 
horror — Oh,  never  dream  it — there's  none  of  you  a  Moor, 

13. — PEIDE. 

I  shall  now  talk  with  some  pride.  Go  tell  your  august 
magistrate — ^he  that  throws  the  dice  on  life  and  death — tell 
him,  I  am  none  of  those  banditti  who  are  in  compact  with 
sleep  and  the  midnight  hour — I  scale  no  walls  in  the  dark, 
and  force  no  locks  to  plunder. 

15. — HATEED — (aversion.) 
{Sudden,) 

The  furies  curse  you  then ; 

"When  forth  you  walk,  may  the  red,  flaming  sun 

Strike  you  with  livid  plagues  I 

Vipers  that  die  not,  slowly  gnaw  your  heart ; 

May  mankind  shun  you  ;  may  you  hate  yourself. 

Pray  for  death  hourly  yet  be  million  of  years 

In  expiring. 

I  tell  thee  I  ne'er  received  a  blow  from  mortal  man 
But  I  did  pay  it  back  with  interest. 


EXAMPLES    OF   THE   PASSIONS.  135 

Oh !  that  we  were  on  the  dark  wave  together, 
With  but  one  plank  between  us  and  destruction, 
That  I  might  grasp  him  in  these  desperate  arms. 
And  plunge  with  him  amid  the  weltering  billows 
And  view  him  gasp  for  life. 

16. — FEAE — TEEEOR. 

Angels !  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  I 

Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health  or  goblin  damn'd, 

Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven 

Or  blasts  from  hell.     Be  thy  intent  wicked* 

Or  charitable,  thou  cora'st  in  such  a  questionable  shape 

That  I  will  speak  to  thee. 

(Aspiration.) 

I've  done  the  deed — didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ? 
There's  one  did  laugh  in  his  sleep,  and  one  cried  murder. 

17. — SURPEISE — AMAZEMENT. 

Gone  to  be  married,  gone  to  swear  a  peace! 

False  blood  to  false  blood  joined !     Gone  to  be  friends ! 

Shall  Lewis  have  Blanche?  and  Blanche  these  provinces? 

(Sudden.) 
Yes ; — His  Amelia; — by  and  bye^ — she's  dead. 
^Tis  liJce  she  comes  to  spealc  of  Cassio^s  death^ 
The  noise  was  high. — Ha !  no  more  moving! 
Still  as  the  grave; — Shall  she  come  in,  wert — good? 

21 . — PERPLEXITY — (Irresolution,  anxiety.) 
Which  way  shall  I  fly  ?     Infinite  wrath  and  infinite  despair — ■ 
Which  way  I  fly  is  hell,  myself  am  hell, 
And  in  the  lowest  depth  a  lower  deep. 
Still  threatening  to  devour,  opens  wide. 
To  which  the  hell  I  suflfer  seems  a  heaven. 

19. — REMORSE. 

(Dreadful  anguish.) 
And  hence  became  a  robber  and  a  murderer  (strides  his 


136  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

"breast).  Oh !  fool,  fool !  the  victim  of  infernal  treachery,  and 
now  a  murderer  and  assassin — (walJcs)  *  *  (stops)  and  that 
poor  father  in  a  dungeon  (suppressed),  what  cause  have  I  for 
Eage  or  Complaint  ?  (affects  composure). 

Whence  is  that  knocking? 
How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  appals  me  ? 
What  hands  are  here  ?  Ha !  they  pluck  out  mine  eyes  1 
Will  all  great  Il^eptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand  ?  no  ;  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnardine, 
Making  the  green — one  red. 

7. — COMPLAINING — (EXTREME  PAIN.) — Excessivc  Grief, 
Oh  !  I  am  shot !  a  forked  burning  arrow 
Sticks  across  my  shoulders ;  the  sad  venom  flies 
Like  lightning  through  my  flesh,  my  blood,  my  marrow. 
Ha  I  what  a  change  of  torments  I  endure ! 
A  bolt  of  ice  runs  hissing  through  my  bowels  ; 
'Tis  sure  the  aim  of  death ;  give  me  a  chair ; 
Cover  me  for  I  freeze,  and  my  teeth  chatter 
And  my  knees  knock  together. 

19, 20,  21. — YEXATioN — (Perplexity,  Complaining  and 
Remorse.) 
O  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  I ! 
Is  it  not  monstrous,  that  this  player  here, 

*    *     What's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba, 
That  he  should  weep  for  her  ?    - 

22. —  \  ANGEE — (Different  styles), 

23. —  /  EAGE,  FUET. 

(Unrestrained  Fury.) 
Alive !  in  triumph  !  and  Mercutio  slain  ? 
Away  to  heaven  respective  lenity. 
And  fire-eyed  fury  be  my  conduct  now ! 
Now  Tybalt  take  the  villain  back  again 
That  late  thou  gav'st  me :  for  Mercutio's  soul 
Is  but  a  little  way  above  our  heads 
And  thou  or  I  must  bear  him  company. 


EXAMPLES    OF   THE   PASSIONS.  137 

19,  2T,  26. — REVENGE. 

Revenge,  revenge  this  violated,  this  proftined  head ;  here  I 
tear  forever  the  fraternal  bond ;  here,  in  the  sight  of  heaven 
I  curse  him.  *  *  *  Bi-ing  him  to  me  alive  and  millions 
shall  be  your  reward. 

Poison  be  their  drink  ! 

Gall  worse  than  gall,  the  daintiest  meat  they  taste. 

2T. — ^kiAQTS.— {Continued  anger,) 
How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks ; 
I  hate  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian. 

If  I  can  once  catch  him  upon  the  hip 

I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 

28. — DESPAIR. 

To  die — to  have  my  ashes  trampled  on 
By  the  proud  foot  of  scorn ! — Polluted ! — Oh ! — 
Who  dares  to  mock  my  guilt  ? — Is't  you  ?  or  you  ? 
Wrack  me  that  grinning  fiend! — There,  see  there! 
Who  spits  upon  my  grave  ? — I'll  stab  again  I     I'll — oh  I 

Alive  again  ?  then  show  me  where  he  is. 

I'll  give  a  thousand  pounds  to  look  upon  him. — 

He  hath  no  eyes,  the  dust  hath  blinded  them — 

Comb  down  his  hair ;  look!  look!  it  stands  upright 

Like  lime-twigs  to  catch  my  winged  soul ! 

Give  me  some  drink,  and  bid  the  apothecary 

Bring  the  strong  poison  that  I  bought  of  him. 

29. — DISTRACTION — MADNESS. 

Ay  I  laugh  ye  fiends !  I  feel  the  truth  ; 
Your  task  is  done  ;  I'm  mad  I  I'm  mad  ! 

They  come  again!     They  tear  my  brain! 
They  seize  my  heart ! — they  choke  my  breath. 

O  this  poor  brain !  ten  thousand  shapes  of  fury 
Are  whirling  there,  and  reason  is  no  more. 


138  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

30.— Fatigue. 
I  see  man's  life  is  a  tedious  one ; 
1  should  be  sick  ])ut  that  my  resolution  helps  me. 

(Hunger)  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further ;  Oh,  I  die  for  food? 
Here  I  lie  down  and  measure  out  mj  grave. 

I  must  stop  here.   (down).    My  joints  are  shook  asunder ;  my 
tongue  cleaves  to  my  mouth. 

31. — FAINTING. — 32. — DEATH, 

Oh !  I  cannot ! 
I  have  no  strength  ;  but  want  thy  feeble  aid. — 
Ah  !  cruel  poison ! 

Absent  thee  from  felicity  awhile. 

And  in  this  harsh  world  draw  thy  breath  in  pain 

To  tell  my  story  ; — 

Oh!  I  die,  Horatio! 

The  potent  poison  quite  overthrows  ray  spirit — 

The  rest  is  silence. 

JEALOUSY. 

(Surprise.) 
Think  my  lord ! — By  heaven  he  echoes  me ! 
As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  his  thought 
Too  hideous  to  be  shown — Thou  dost  mean  something. 

If  I  do  prove  her  haggard — 
Though  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heart-strings 
I'd  whistle  her  off  and  let  her  down  the  wind 
To  prey  at  fortune. 

She's  gone,  I  am  abused, — and  my  relief 
Must  be — to  loathe  her. 

If  thou  dost  slander  her  and  torture  me 
Never  pray  more.     Abandon  all  remorse  ; 
On  horror's  head  horrors  accumulate,  do  deeds 
To  make  heaven  weep,  all  earth  amazed ; 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add 
Greater  than  that. 


EXAMPLES    OF   THE   PASSIONS.  139 

83. YEXEEATION. 

Oh  !  thou  Eternal  one  ;   whose  presence  bright 

All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide; 
Being  above  all  beings,  Mighty  one, 

Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore. 

Collin's  ode  to  the  passions. 
When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  Passions,  oft,  to  hear  her  shelly 
Throng'd  around  her  magic  cell ; 

4  16  23  31 

Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
Possessed  beyond  the  muse's  painting ; 
By  turns,  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturb'd,  delighted,  raised,  refined; 
Till  once,  'tis  said,  when  all  were  fired, 

23        18 

Filled  with  Fnry,  rapt,  inspired, 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round, 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound  ; 
And  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart. 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  tuneful  art. 
Each,  (for  Madness  ruled  the  hour,) 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

16 

First,  Fear,  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try, 

Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid, 
And  back  recoil'd,  he  knew  not  why, 

E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

22 

Next  Anger  rushed,  his  eyes  on  fire, 

In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings ; 
In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre. 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

28 

With  woeful  measures,  wan  Despair 

Low,  sudden  sounds  his  grief  beguiled ; 
A  solemn,  strange  and  mingled  air ; 

'Twas  sad  by  fits ;  by  starts  'twas  wild. 


140  VOICE   A1^T>   ACTIO]Sr. 

10 

But  thou,  O  Hope !  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 

And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail ; 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong  ; 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 
She  called  Echo  still  tlirough  all  her  song ; 
And  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close : 
And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved    her    golden 
hair. 

And  longer  had  she  sung,  but  with  a  frown 

26  ^ 

Eevenge  impatient  rose. 

He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in  thunder  down, 

And  with  a  withering  look. 

The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took, 
And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread. 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe  ; 

And  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat. 
And  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between, 

9 

Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side, 
Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied  ; 
Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild,  unaltered  mien, 
While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  bursting  from 
his  head. 

34 

Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fixed — 

Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state : 
Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mixed  ; 

5  15 

And  now  it  courted  Love ;  now,  raving,  called  on  Hate. 
With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 

8 
Pale  Melancholy,  sat  retired. 

And,  from  her  wild,  sequestered  seat, 

In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet, 


EXAMPLES    OF    THE   PASSIONS.  141 

Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul ; 

And  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 

Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound ; 
Thro'  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole, 
Or  o'er  some  stream  with  fond  delay, 

(Round  a  holy  calm  diffusing. 

Love  of  peace  and  and  lonely  musing,) 
In  hollow  murraers  died  away. 

But  Oh  !    how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone, 

2 

When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue. 
Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flimg, 

Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspiring  air,  that  dale  and  thicket  rung, 

The  hunter's  call  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known. 
The  oak-crowned  sisters  and  their  chaste-eyed  queen, 
Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys  were  seen. 
Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green; 
Brown  exercise  rejoiced  to  hear. 
And  Sport  leaped  up  and  seized  his  beechen  spear. 

4 

Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial ; 

He,  with  viny  crown  advancing. 

First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addressed ; 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol, 

"Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best. 
They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  the  strain, 

They  saw  in  Tempe's  vale  her  native  maids, 

Amid  the  festal-sounding  shades, 

To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing. 

While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings. 

Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round, 
(Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound,) 
And  he  amid  his  frolic  play, 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 
Shook  thousand  odors  from  his  dewy  wings. 


142  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


EEADIN^GS. 


NOETH-AMEEICAN   INDIANS. 

Not  many  generations  ago,  where  yon  now  sit,  en- 
circled with  all  that  exalts  and  emT)ellishes  civilized 
life,  the  rank  thistle  nodded  in  the  wind,  and  the  wild 
fox  dug  his  hole  unscared.  Here  lived  and  loved  anoth- 
er race  of  beings.  Beneath  the  same  sun  that  rolls 
over  your  heads,  the  Indian  hunter  pursued  the  panting 
deer  ;  gazing  on  the  same  moon  that  smiles  for  you, 
the  Indian  lover  wooed  his  dugrky  mate.  Here  the 
wigwam-blaze  beamed  on  the  tender  and  helpless ;  the 
council  fire  glared  on  the  wise  and  the  daring.  Now 
they  dipped  their  noble  limbs  in  your  sedgy  lakes,  and 
now  they  paddled  the  light  canoe  along  your  rocky 
shores.  Here  they  warred ;  the  echoing  whoop,  the 
bloody  grapple,  the  defying  death  song,  all  were  here ; 
and  when  the  tiger-strife  was  over,  here  curled  the 
smoke  of  peace. 

Here,  too,  they  worshipped ;  and  from  many  a  dark 
bosom  went  up  a  fervent  prayer  to  the  Great  Spirit. 
He  had  not  written  his  laws  for  them  on  tables  of  stone, 
but  he  had  traced  them  on  the  tables  of  their  hearts. 
The  poor  child  of  nature  knew  not  the  God  of  Revela- 
tion, but  the  God  of  the  universe  he  acknowledged  in 
everything  around.  He  beheld  him  in  the  star  that 
sank  in  beauty  behind  his  lonely  dwelling  ;  in  the 
sacred  orb  that  flamed  on  him  from  his  mid-day  throne  ; 
in  the  flower  that  snapped  in  the  morning  breeze  ;  in 
the  lofty  pine  that  defied  a  thousand  whirlwinds  ;  in  the 
timid  warbler  that  never  left  his  native  grove  ;  in  the 


READINGS   FOR   PRACTICE.  143 

fearless  eagle,  whose  untired  pinion  was  wet  in  clouds ; 
in  the  worm  that  crawled  at  his  feet ;  and  in  his  own 
matchless  form,  glowing  with  a  spark  of  that  light,  to 
whose  mysterious  source  he  bent  in  humble,  though 
blind  adoration.  And  all  this  has  passed  away.  Here 
and  there  a  stricken  few  remain ;  but  how  unlike  their 
bold,  untamed,  untamable  progenitors  !  The  Indian 
of  falcon-glance  and  lion-bearing,  the  theme  of  the 
touching  ballad,  the  hero  of  the  pathetic  tale,  is  gone  ; 
and  his  degraded  offspring  crawls  upon  the  soil  where 
he  walked  in  majesty,  to  remind  us  how  miserable  is 
man,  when  the  foot  of  the  conqueror  is  on  his  neck. 

As  a  race,  they  have  withered  from  the  land.  Their 
arrows  are  broken,  their  springs  are  dried  up,  their 
cabins  are  in  the  dust.  Their  council  fire  has  long 
since  gone  out  on  the  shore,  and  their  war-cry  is  fast 
dying  to  the  untrodden  West.  Slowly  and  sadly  they 
climb  the  distant  mountains,  and  read  their  doom  in  the 
setting  sun.  They  are  shrinking  before  the  mighty 
tide  which  is  pressing  them  away.  They  must  soon 
hear  the  roar  of  the  last  wave,  which  will  settle  over 
them  forever. 


BATTLE    OF   IVRY. 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glo- 
ries are  ! 

And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Liege,  King  Henry  of  N^a- 
varre ! 

Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  the 
dance, 

Through  thy  cornfields  green,  and  sunny  vales,  O  pleas- 
ant land  of  France  ! 

And  thou  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of 
the  waters, 


144  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

Again  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourning 
daughters : 

As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our  joy, 

For  cold  and  stiff  and  still  are  they  who  would  thy 
walls  annoy. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  a  single  field  hath  turned  the  chance 
of  war ; 

Hurrah !  hurrah  !  for  Ivry  and  King  Henry  of  Na- 
varre ! 

The  king  has  come  to   marshal  us,  in  all  his  armor 

drest. 
And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gallant 

crest  ; 
He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye, 
He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern 

and  high. 
Kight  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wing 

to  wing, 
Down  all  our  line,  a  deafening  shout,  "  God  save  our 

lord,  the  king  !  " 
"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall — as  fall  full  well  he 

may. 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray — 
Press  where  you  see  my  white  plume  shine,  amid  the 

ranks  of  w^ar, 
And  be  your  oriflamme,  to-day,  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah  !   the  foes  are  moving  !     Hark  to  the  mingled 

din 
Of  fife  and  steed  and  trump   and   drum   and   roaring 

culverin  ! 
The  fiery  duke  is  pricking  fast  across  St.  Andre's  plain, 
With  all  the  hireling  chivalry   of  Guelders  and  Al- 

mayne. 


READINGS    FOK    PRACTICE.  145 

N"ow,  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of 
France, 

Charge  for  the  golden  lilies,  now,  upon  them  with  the 
lance  ! 

A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears 
in  rest, 

A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow- 
white  crest. 

And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a 
guiding  star, 

Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  N'a- 
varre. 

INDIAN    SPEECH. 

White  man,  there  is  eternal  war  between  me  and 
thee  !  I  quit  not  the  land  of  my  fathers  but  wkh  my 
life.  In  those  woods  where  I  bent  my  youthful  bow, 
I  will  still  hunt  the  deer.  Over  yonder  waters  I  will 
still  glide,  unrestrained,  in  my  bark  canoe.  By  those 
dashing  waterfalls  I  will  still  lay  up  my  winter's  store 
of  food.  On  these  fertile  meadows  I  will  still  plant  my 
corn.  Stranger,  the  land  is  mine  !  I  understand  not 
these  paper-rights.  I  gave  not  my  consent  when,  as 
thou  sayest,  these  broad  regions  were  purchased,  for  a 
few  baubles,  of  my  fathers.  They  could  sell  what  was 
theirs, — they  could  sell  no  more.  How  could  my  fa- 
thers sell  that  which  the  Great  Spirit  sent  me  into  the 
world  to  live  upon  ?  They  knew  not  what  they  did. 
The  stranger  came,  a  timid,  suppliant,  tew  and  feeble, 
and  asked  to  lie  down  on  the  red  man's  bear-skin,  and: 
warm  himself  at  the  red  man's  fire,  and  have  a  little 
piece  of  land  to  raise  corn  for  his  women  and  children  ; 
and  now  he  is  become  strong  and  mighty  and  bold,  and 
spreads  out  his  parchment  over  the  whole,  and  says, 
"  it  is  mine."  Stranger,  there  is  not  room  for  us  both. 
7 


146  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

The  Great  Spirit  has  not  made  us  to  live  together. 
There  is  poison  in  the  white  man's  cup  ;  the  white 
man's  dog  barks  at  the  red  man's  heels.  If  I  should 
leave  the  land  of  my  fathers,  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 
Shall  I  go  to  the  South  and  dwell  among  the  graves  of 
the  Pequots  ?  Shall  I  wander  to  the  West  ?  The 
fierce  Mohawk,  the- man-eater  is  my  foe.  Shall  I  fly  to 
the  East  ?  The  great  water  is  before  me.  No,  stran- 
ger, here  have  I  lived,  and  here  will  I  die  !  and  if  here 
thou  abidest  there  is  eternal  war  betAveen  me  and  thee. 
Thou  hast  taught  me  thy  arts  of  destruction.  For  that 
alone  I  thank  thee  :  and  now  take  heed  to  thy  steps; 
the  red  man  is  thy  foe.  When  thou  goest  forth  by  day 
my  bullet  shall  whistle  by  thee  ;  when  thou  liest  down 
at  night,  my  knife  is  at  thy  throat.  The  noonday  sun 
shall  not  discover  thy  enemy,  and  the  darkness  of  night 
shall  not  protect  thy  rest.  Thou  shall  plant  in  terror 
and  I  will  reap  in  blood  ;  thou  shalt  sow  the  earth  with 
corn,  and  I  will  strew  it  with  ashes  ;  thou  shalt  go 
forth  with  the  sickle,  and  I  will  follow  after  with  the 
scalping  knife  ;  thou  shalt  build  and  I  will  burn,  till  the 
white  man  or  the  Indian  shall  cease  from  the  land.  Go 
thy  way,  for  this  time  in  safety  ;  but  remember,  stran- 
ger, there  is  eternal  war  between  me  and  thee. 

JULIUS   C^SAR. 

Cas, — (r.  c.)    That  you  have  wronged  me  doth  ap- 
pear in  this : 
You  have  condemned  and  noted  Lucius  Pella 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians  ; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  ofl*. 

Bru, — (c.)     You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  such 
a  case. 


EEADINGS   FOE   PEACTICE.  147 

Cas, — In  such  a  time  as  this  it  is  not  meet 
That  every  nice  offence  should  bear  its  comment. 

Bru. — Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condemned  to  have  an  itching  palm  ; 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cas. — I  an  itching  palm  ? 
You  know  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Bru. — Remember   March,  the  Ides   of  March   re- 
member. 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  villain  touched  his  body  that  did  stab. 
And  not  for  justice  ?     What  !  shall  one  of  us, 
That  stru(?k  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 
But  for  supporting  robbers,  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes. 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors 
For  so  much  trash,  as  may  be  grasped  thus  ? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cas, — Brutus,  bay  not  me : 
I'll  not  endure  it.     I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 


Bru, — You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so  ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.     For  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas. — You  wrong  me  ;  every  way  you  wrong  me, 

Brutus  ; 
I  said  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better 
Did  I  say  better  ? 


148  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

JBru, — If  you  did,  I  care  not. 
*^<         ******* 

Cas» — Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

J3ru. — You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius'  in  your  threats  ; 
For  I  am  armed  so  strong  in  honesty, 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
Which  I  respect  not.     I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me; 
Fori  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means  : 
By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash, 
By  any  indirection,     I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions, 
Which  you  denied  me  :  was  that  done  like  Cassius  ? 
Should  I  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so? 
W^hen  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  Gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, 
Dash  him  to  pieces  !   {crosses  to  H.) 

Cas. — I  denied  you  not. 

JBru, — You  did. 

Cas. — I  did  not :  he  was  but  a  fool 
That  brought  my  answer  back. — Brutus  hath  rived  my 

heart : 
A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities  ; 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

JBru, — I  do  not,  till  you  practice  them  on  me. 

Cas, — You  love  rae  not. 

JBi^u, — I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Cas. — A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

£ru. — (e.  c.)     a  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they 
do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 


READINGS   FOE  PEACTICE.  149 

SONG    OF   THE    GREEKS,    1822. 

1  Again  to  the  battle,  Achaians  ! 
Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance  ; 

Our  land,— the  first  garden  of  Liberty's  tree, — 
It  has  been,  and  shall  yet  be,  the  land  of  the  free ; 

For  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted, 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted, 
And  we  march  that  the  footprints  of  Mahomet's  slaves. 
May  be   wash'd  out  in  blood    from  our  forefathers' 
graves. 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o'er  us. 

And  the  si^jord  shall  to  glory  restore  us. 

2  Ah  !  what  though  no  succor  advances, 
Nor  Christendoms's  chivalrous  lances 

Are  stretch'd  in  our  aid  ? — Be  the  combat  our  own  ! 

And  we'll  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone ; 
For  we've  sworn  by  our  country's  assaulters, 
By  the  virgins  they've  dragged  from  our  altars, 

By  our  massacred  patriots,  our  children  in  chains. 

By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 
That,  living,  we  will  be  victorious, 
Or  that,  dying,  our  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

3  A  breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not : 

The  szoord  that  we've  drawn  we  will  sheathe  not: 
Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid. 
And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 

Earth  may  hide,  waves  engulf,  fire  consume  us ; 

But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us : 
If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves  : — 
But  we've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the  waves. 

And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us  ; — 

To  the  charge  ! — Heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 


150  YOICE    AND   ACTION. 

GOD. 

0  thou  Eternal  One  !    whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide, 
Unchanged  through  Time's  all-devastating  flight ; 
Thou  only  God  !     There  is  no  God  beside ! 
Being  above  all  beings  !     Mighty  One  ! 
Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore ; 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  Thyself  alone ; 
Embracing  all, — supporting, — ruling  o'er,— 
Being  whom  we  call  God — and  know  no  more  ! 

In  its  sublime  research,  philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean  deep— may  count 

The  sands  or  the  sun's  rays — but,  God  !  for  thee 

There  is  no  weight  nor  measure ;  none  can  mount 

Up  to  thy  mysteries ;  reason's  brightest  spark. 

Though  kindled  by  thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 

To  trace  thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark ; 

And  thought  is  lost  'ere  thought  can  soar  so^high, 

Even  like  past  moments  in  eternity. 

A  million  torches  lighted  by  thy  hand 
Wander  unwearied  through  the  blue  abyss  ; 
They  own  thy  power,  accomplish  thy  command, 
All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 
What  shall  we  call  them  ?     Piles  of  crystal  light — 
A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams — 
Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright — 
Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams  ? 
But  thou  to  these  art  as  the  noon  to  night. 

Yes  !  as  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea, 

All  this  magnificence  in  thee  is  lost ; — 

What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  thee  ? 

And  what  am  I  then  ?     Heaven's  unnumbered  host, 


EEADIXGS   FOE   PRACTICE.  151 

Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 
In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought, 
Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance,  weighed 
Against  thy  greatness,  is  a  cipher  brought 
Against  infinity  !  O,  what  am  I  then  ?  ISTought ! 

ISTought !  yet  the  effluence  of  thy  light  divine, 

Pervading  worlds  hath  reached  my  bosom  too ; 

Yes  !  in  my  spirit  doth  thy  spirit  shine, 

As  shines  a  sunbeam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 

Nought !  yet  I  live,  and  on  hope's  pinions  fly 

Eager  towards  thy  presence ;  for  in  thee 

I  live,  and  breathe,  and  dwell,  aspiring  high, 

Even  to  the  throne  of  thy  divinity. 

I  am,  O  God  !  and  surely  thou  must  be. 

Creator,  Yes  !  thy  wisdom  and  thy  Avord 
Created  me  !  thou  source  of  life  and  good  ! 
Thou  spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord  ! 
Thy  light,  thy  love,  in  their  bright  plentitude 
Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
Over  the  abyss  of  death,  and  bade  it  wear 
The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 
Its  heavenly  flight  beyond  this  little  sphere, 
Even  to  its  source — to  thee — its  author  there. 

O  thoughts  ineflable  !  0  visions  blest ! 
Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  thee, 
Yet  shall  thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 
And  waft  its  homage  to  thy  Deity. 
God  !  thus  alone  my  lonely  thoughts  can  soar ; 
Thus  seek  thy  presence.  Being  wise  and  good ! 
'Midst  thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore. 
And  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more, 
The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude. 


152  VOICE  Ai^D  actio:n". 


Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears : 

I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them ; 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones ; 

So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you,  Ca3sar  was  ambitious  : 

If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault, 

And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 

(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man  ; 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men,) 

Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. — 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me ; 
But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious, 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 
He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill. 
Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 
When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept : 
Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff: 
Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious. 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 
You  all  did  see,  that,  on  the  Lupercal, 
I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 
Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 
Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious. 
And,  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man. 
I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke. 
But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 
You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause : 
What  cause  witholds  you  then  to  mourn  for  him  ? 
O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 


READINGS    FOR   PRACTICE.  153 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason  ! — bear  with  me  : 
My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Csesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world  ;  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  Masters !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearth  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong ;  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men  : 

But  here's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Caesar, — 

I  found  it  in  his  closet ;  't  is  his  will. 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament 

(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read). 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 

And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood ; 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills. 

Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy. 

Unto  their  issue. — 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle ;  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Csesar  put  it  on ; 
'Twas  on  a  sumitier's  evening  in  his  tent ; 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. — 
Look  !     In  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through : 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made  : 
Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed ; 
And  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark,  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it ! — 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all! 


154  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arais. 

Quite  vanquished  him !     Then  burst  his  mighty  heart ; 

And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue. 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 

O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 

Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us,  fell  down, 

Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 

O,  now  you  weep ;  and  I  perceive  you  feel 

The  dint  of  pity  : — these  are  gracious  drops. 

Kind  souls  !  what,  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 

Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  ye  here  ! 

Here  is  himself— marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors. 

Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny  ! 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable ! 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not. 
That  made  them  do  it  !     They  are  wise  and  honor- 
able ! 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts  : 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is  ; 
But  as  you  all  do  know,  a  plain,  blunt  man. 
That  love  my  friend  ;  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  no**  worth. 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech. 
To  stir  men's  blood :  I  only  speak  right  on ; 
And  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know  ; 
Show   you   sweet  Caesars  wounds,  poor,    poor  dumb 

mouths. 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me.     But  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 


EEADIIS^GS    FOR   PRACTICE.  155 


"Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Csesar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 


SALADTN   AND   MALEK   ADHEL. 

Attendant.  A  stranger  craves  admittance  to  your 
Highness. 

Scdad'bi.  Whence  comes  he  ? 

Attendant  That  I  know  not. 
Enveloped  with  a  vestment  of  strange  form, 
His  countenance  is  hidden  ;  but  his  step, 
His  lofty  port,  his  voice  in  vain  disguised, 
Proclaim, — if  that  I  dare  pronounce  it, — 

Saladin,  Whom? 

Attendant.  Thy  royal  brother  I 

Baladin.  Bring  him  instantly.     [JExit  Attendant. 
Now,  v/ith  his  specious,  smooth,  persuasive  tongue. 
Fraught  with  some  wily  subterfuge,  he  thinks 
To  dissipate  my  anger.     He  shall  die  ! 

[Enter  Attendant  and  Maleh  Adhel. 
Leave  us  together.      [Exit  Attendant.^      [Aside.]     I 

should  know  that  form. 
Now  summon  all  thy  fortitude,  my  soul, 
Nor,  though  thy  blood  cry  for  him,  spare  the  guilty ! 
[Alond.]     Well,  stranger,  speak  ;  but  first  unvail  thy- 
self, 
For  Saladin  must  view  the  form  that  fronts  him. 

Malek  Adhel  Behold  it,  then  ! 

Saladin.  1  see  a  traitor's  visage. 

Malelc  Adhel.  A  brother's  ! 

Salad  171.  No ! 
Saladin  owns  no  kindred  with  a  villain. 

Malek  Adhel.    O,   patience,   Heaven !      Had  any 
tono;ue  but  thine 


156  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

Uttered  tliat  word,  it  ne'er  should  speak  another. 

Salad  in.  And  why  not  now  ?     Can  this  heart  be 
more  pierced 
By  Malek  Adhel's  sword  than  by  his  deeds  ? 
O,  thou  hast  made  a  desert  of  this  bosom ! 
For  open  candor,  planted  sly  disguise; 
For  confidence,  suspicion  ;  and  the  glow 
Of  generous  friendship,  tenderness  and  love, 
Forever  banished  !     Whither  can  I  turn,  • 
When  he  by  blood,  by  gratitude,  by  faith. 
By  every  tie,  bound  to  support,  forsakes  me  ? 
Who,  who  can  stand,  when  Malek  Adhel  falls  ? 
Henceforth  I  turn  me  from  the  sweets  of  love : 
The  smiles  of  friendship,  and  this  glorious  w^orld, 
In  which  all  find  some  heart  to  rest  upon, 
Shall  be  to  Saladin  a  cheerless  void, — 
His  brother  has  betrayed  him ! 

Malek  Adhel,  Thou  art  softened  ; 
I  am  thy  brother,  then ;  but  late  thou  saidst, — 
My  tongue  can  never  utter  the  base  title  ! 

Saladin,  Was  it  traitor  ?     True  ! 
Thou  liast  betrayed  me  in  my  fondest  hopes  ! 
Villain  ?     'Tis  just ;  the  title  is  appropriate  ! 
Dissembler  ?     'Tis  not  written  in  thy  face  ; 
^o,  nor  imprinted  on  that  specious  brow ; 
But  on  this  breaking  heart  the  name  is  stamped, 
Forever  stamped,  with  that  of  Malek  Adhel ! 
Thinkest  thou  I'm  softened  ?      By  Mohammed  !    these 

hands 
Should  crush  these  aching  eye-balls,  ere  a  tear 
Fall  from  them  at  thy  fate  !     O  monster,  monster  I 
The  brute  that  tears  the  infant  from  its  nurse 
Is  excellent  to  thee ;  for  in  his  form 
The  impulse  of  his  nature  may  be  read; 
But  thou,  so  beautiful,  so  proud,  so  noble, 


HEADINGS   FOE   PKACTICE. 


157 


O,  what  a  wretch  art  thou  !     O  !  can  a  term 
In  all  the  various  tongues  of  man  be  found 
To  match  thy  infamy  ? 

3IaleJc  AdJiel,  Go  on  !  go  on  ! 
'Tis  but  a  little  time  to  hear  thee,  Saladin ; 
And,  bursting  at  thy  feet,  this  heart  will  prove 
Its  penitence,  at  least. 

SaL  That  were  an  end 

Too  noble  for  a  traitor !     The  bowstring  is 
A  more  appropriate  finish  !     Thou  shalt  die  ! 

MaL  Ad.  And  death  were  welcome   at   another's 
mandate. 
What,  what  have  I  to  live  for  ?     Be  it  so, 
If  that,  in  all  thy  armies,  can  be  found 
An  executing  hand. 

SaL  Oh,  doubt  it  not ! 

They're  eager  for  the  office.     Perfidy, 
So  black  as  thine,  effaces  from  their  minds 
All  memory  of  thy  former  excellence. 

Mai.  Ad.  Defer  not  then  their  wishes.     Saladin, 
If  e'er  this  form  was  joyful  to  thy  sight. 
This  voice  seem'd  grateful  to  thine  ear,  accede 
To  my  last  prayer  : — Oh,  lengthen  not  this  scene. 
To  which  the  agonies  of  death  were  pleasing  ! 
Let  me  die  speedily  ! 

Sal,  This  very  hour  ! 

[^6'ic?e.]  For,  oh  !  the  more  I  look  upon  that  face, 
The  more  I  hear  the  accents  of  that  A^oice, 
The  monarch  softens,  and  the  judge  is  lost 
In  all  the  brother's  weakness ;  yet  such  guilt, — 
Such  vile  ingratitude, — it  calls  for  vengeance  ; 
And  vengeance  it  shall  have  !     What,  ho  !  who  waits 
there  ?  [Miter  Attendant, 

Atleii,  Did  your  highness  call. 

Sal,  Assemble  quickly 


158  VOICE  AXD  actio:n-. 

My  forces  in  the  court.     Tell  them  they  come 
To  view  the  death  of  yonder  bosom-traitor. 
And  bid  them  mark,  that  he  who  will  not  spare 
His  brother  when  he  errs,  expects  obedience, 
Silent  obedience,  from  his  followers. 

l^Exit  Attendant. 

MaL  Ad.  lN"ow,  Saladin, 

The  word  is  given,  I  have  nothing  more 
To  fear  from  my  brother.     I  am  not 
About  to  crave  a  miserable  life. 
Without  thy  love,  thy  honor,  thy  esteem, 
Life  were  a  burden  to  me.     Think  not,  either, 
The  justness  of  thy  sentence  I  would  question. 
But  one  request  now  trembles  on  my  tongue, — 
One  wish  still  clinging  round  the  heart  ;  which  soon 
I^ot  even  that  shall  torture, — will  it,  then, 
Thinkest  thou,  thy  slumbers  render  quieter. 
Thy  waking  thoughts  more  pleasing,  to  reflect, 
That  when  thy  voice  hath  doomed  a  brother's  death, 
The  last  request  which  e'er  was  his  to  utter 
Thy  harshness  made  him  carry  to  the  grave  ? 

Saladin,  Speak  then  ;  but  ask  thyself  if  thou  hast 
reason 
To  look  for  much  indulgence  here. 

MaL  Ad.  I  have  not  ! 
Yet  will  I  ask  for  it.     We  part  forever ; 
This  is  our  last  farewell ;  the  king  is  satisfied ; 
The  judge  has  spoke  the  irrevocable  sentence. 
None  sees,  none  hears,  save  that  Omniscient  Power, 
Which,  trust  me,  will  not  frown  to  look  upon 
Two  brothers  part  like  such.     When,  in  the  face 
Of  forces  once  my  own,  I'm  led  to  death. 
Then  be  thine  eye  unmoistened  ;  let  thy  voice 
Then  speak  my  doom  untrembling  ;  then, 
Unmoved,  behold  this  stiff  and  blackened  corse. 


READINGS   FOR   PEACTICE.  159 

But  now  I  ask — nay,  turn  not,  Saladin, — 

I  ask  one  single  pressure  of  tliy  hand  ; 

From  that  stern  eye,  one  solitary  tear, — 

O,  torturing  recollection  !— one  kind  word 

From  the  loved  tongue  that  once  breathed  naught  but 

kindness. 
Still  silent  ?     Brother !  friend  !  beloved  companion 
Of  all  my  youthful  sports  ! — are  they  forgotten  ? — 
Strike  me  with  deafness,  make  me  blind,  O  Heaven  ! 
Let  me  not  see  this  unforgiving  man 
Smile  at  my  agonies !  nor  hear  that  voice 
Pronounce  my  doom,  which  would  not  say  one  w^ord, 
One  little  word,  whose  cherished  memory 
Would  soothe  the  struggles  of  departing  life  ! 
Yet  thou  wilt  !     Oh,  turn  thee,  Saladin  ! 
Look  on  my  face — thou  can'st  not  spurn  me  then ; 
Look  on  the  once-loved  face  of  Malek  Adhel 
For  the  last  time,  and  call  him — 

Sal.  {seizing  his  hand,]    Brother  !  brother  ! 

Mai.  Ad,  [breaking  away.]    jfsTow  call  thy  follow 
ers. 
Death  has  not  now  a  single   pang  in  store.     Proceed, 
Pm  ready. 

Sal.  Oh,  art  thou  ready  to  forgive,  my  brother  ? 
To  pardon  him  who  found  one  single  error, 
One  little  failing,  'mid  a  splendid  throng 
Of  glorious  qualities — 

Mai,  Ad.  Oh,  stay  thee,  Saladin ! 
I  did  not  ask  for  life.     I  only  wished 
To  carry  thy  forgiveness  to  the  grave. 
IN'o,  Emperor,  the  loss  of  Cesarea 
Cries  loudly  for  the  blood  of  Malek  Adhel. 
Thy  soldiers,  too,  demand  that  he  who  lost 
What  cost  them  many  a  w^eary  hour  to  gain, 
Should  expiate  his  offences  with  his  life. 


160  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

Lo  !  even  now  they  crowd  to  view  my  death, 
Thy  just  impartiality.     I  go  ! 
Pleased  by  my  fate  to  add  one  other  leaf 
To  thy  proud  wreath  of  glory.     [  Going. 

SaL  Thou  shalt  not. 

{^Enter  Attendant, 

Atten,  My  lord,  the  troops  assembled  by  your  order 
Tumultuous  throng  the  courts.    The  prince's  death      - 
Not  one  of  them  but  vows  he  will  not  suffer. 
The  mutes  have  fled,  the  very  guards  rebel. 
Nor  think  I,  in  this  city's  spacious  round, 
Can  e'er  be  found  a  hand  to  do  the  office. 

Mai  Ad.  O  faithful  friends  !     [To  Atten.]    Thine 
shalt. 

Atten.  Mine? — Never! — 
The  other  first  shall  lop  it  from  the  body. 

Sal.  They  teach  the  Emperor  his  duty  well. 
Tell  them  he  thanks  them  for  it.     Tell  them,  too, 
That  ere  their  opposition  reached  our  ears, 
Saladin  had  forgiven  Malek  Adhel. 

Attendant.  O  joyful  news  ! 
I  haste  to  gladden  many  a  gallant  heart. 
And  dry  the  tear  on  many  a  hardy  cheek. 
Unused  to  such  a  visitor.     [JExit.] 

Saladin.  These  men,  the  meanest  in  society, 
The  outcasts  of  the  earth, — by  war,  by  nature, 
Hardened  and  rendered  callous, — these  who  claim 
No  kindred  with  thee, — who  have  never  heard 
The  accents  of  affection  from  thy  lips, — 

0,  these  can  cast  aside  their  vowed  allegiance. 
Throw  off  their  long  obedience,  risk  their  lives, 
To  save  thee  from  destruction.     While  I, 

1,  who  cannot,  in  all  my  memory. 

Call  back  one  danger  which  thou  hast  not  shared. 
One  day  of  grief,  one  night  of  revelry, 


READINGS    FOR   PRACTICE.  161 

Which  thy  resistless  kindness  hath  not  soothed, 

Or  thy  gay  smile  and  converse  rendered  sweeter, — 

I,  who  have  thrice  in  the  ensanguined  field, 

When  death  seemed  certain,  only  uttered — "  Brother !" 

And  seen  that  form,  like  lightning,  rush  between 

Saladin  and  his  foes,  and  that  brave  breast, 

Dauntless  exposed  to  many  a  furious  blow 

Intended  for  my  own — I  could  forget 

That  'twas  to  thee  I  owed  the  very  breath 

Which  sentenced  thee  to  perish  !     O,  'tis  shameful ! 

Thou  can'st  not  pardon  me  ! 

Mai.  Ad.  By  these  tears,  I  can  ! 
O  brother  !  from  this  very  hour,  a  new, 
A  glorious  life  commences  !     I  am  all  thine  ! 
Again  the  day  of  gladness  or  of  anguish 
Shall  Malek  Adhel  share  ;  and  oft  again 
May  this  sword  fence  thee  in  the  bloody  field. 
Henceforth  Saladin, 
My  heart,  my  soul,  my  sword,  are  thine  forever  ! 


162  VOICE   AND   ACTION.    - 

WASHINGTON'S 
FAREWELL   ADDRESS 

TO    THE 

PEOPLE  OF  THE  UIS^ITED  STATES. 

(extracts.) 


Inserted  as  a  very  difficult  piece  of  reading. 


Feiends  and  Fellow  Citizens  : — The  period  for 
a  new  election  of  a  citizen,  to  administer  tlie  executive 
government  of  the  United  States,  being  not  far  distant, 
and  the  time  actually  arrived,  when  your  thoughts  must 
be  employed  in  designating  the  person  w^ho  is  to  be 
clothed  with  that  important  trust,  it  appears  to  me  prop- 
er, especially  as  it  may  conduce  to  a  more  distinct  ex- 
pression of  the  public  voice,  that  I  should  now  apprise 
you  of  the  resolution  I  have  formed,  to  decline  being 
considered  among  the  number  of  those,  out  of  whom  a 
choice  is  to  be  made. 

In  looking  forward  to  the  moment  which  is  to  ter- 
minate the  career  of  my  political  life,  my  feelings  do 
not  permit  me  to  suspend  the  deep  acknowledgment  of 
that  debt  of  gratitude  which  I  owe  to  my  beloved 
country  for  the  many  honors  it  has  conferred  upon  me; 
still  more  for  the  steadfast  confidence  with  which  it  has 
supported  me  ;  and  for  the  opportunities  I  have  thence 
enjoyed  of  manifesting  my  inviolable  attachment,  by 
services  faithful  and  persevering,  though  in  usefulness 
unequal  to  my  zeal. 


READINGS   FOE   PEACTICE.  163 

Interwoven  as  is  the  love  of  liberty  with  every  liga- 
ment of  your  hearts,  no  recommendation  of  mine  is  ne- 
cessary to  fortify  or  confirm  the  attachment. 

The  unity  of  Government  which  constitutes  you  one 
people,  is  also  now  dear  to  you.  It  is  justly  so  ;  for  it 
is  a  main  pillar  in  the  edifice  of  your  real  independence, 
the  support  of  your  tranquillity  at  home,  your  peace 
abroad  ;  of  your  safety  ;  of  your  prosperity  ;  of  that 
very  Liberty,  which  you  so  highly  prize.  But  as  it  is 
easy  to  foresee,  that,  from  different  causes  and  from 
difierent  quarters,  much  pains  will  be  taken,  many  ar- 
tifices employed,  to  weaken  in  your  minds  the  convic- 
tion of  this  truth ;  as  this  is  the  point  in  your  political 
fortress  against  which  the  batteries  of  internal  and  ex- 
ternal enemies  will  be  most  constantly  and  actively 
(though  often  covertly  and  insidiously)  directed,  it  is 
of  infinite  moment  that  you  should  properly  estimate 
the  immense  value  of  your  national  Union  to  your  col- 
lective and  individual  happiness  ;  that  you  should 
cherish  a  cordial,  habitual,  and  immoveable  attachment 
to  it;  accustoming  yourselves  to  think  and  speak  of  it 
as  of  the  Palladium  of  your  political  safety  and  pros- 
perity ;  watching  for  its  preservation  with  jealous 
anxiety  ;  discountenancing  whatever  may  suggest  even 
a  suspicion  that  it  can  in  any  event  be  abandoned;  and 
indignantly  frowning  upon  the  first  dawning  of  every 
attempt  to  alienate  any  portion  of  our  country  from  the 
rest,  or  to  enfeeble  the  sacred  ties  which  now  link  to- 
gether the  various  parts. 

For  this  you  have  every  inducement  of  sympathy 
and  interest.  Citizens,  by  birth  or  choice,  of  a  common 
country,  that  country  has  a  right  to  concentrate  your 
afiections.  The  name  of  American,  which  belongs  to 
you,  in  your  national  capacity,  must  always  exalt  the 
just  pride  of  Patriotism,  more  than  any  appellation  de- 
rived from  local  discriminations. 


164  YOICE    AND   ACTION. 

This  Government,  the  offspring  of  our  own  choice, 
uninfluenced  and  unawed,  adopted  upon  full  inves- 
tigation and  mature  deliberation,  completely  free  in 
its  principles,  in  the  distribution  of  its  powers,  unit- 
ing security  with  energy,  and  containing  within  itself 
a  provision  for  its  own  amendment,  has  a  just  claim  to 
your  confidence  and  your  support.  Respect  for  its 
authority,  compliance  with  its  laws,  acquiescence  in  its 
measures,  are  duties  enjoined  by  the  fundamental  max- 
ims of  true  Liberty.  The  basis  of  our  political  systems 
is  the  right  of  the  people  to  make  and  to  alter  their 
Constitutions  of  Government.  But  the  Constitution 
which  at  any  time  exists,  till  changed  by  an  explicit 
and  authentic  act  of  the  whole  people,  is  sacredly  ob- 
ligatory upon  all.  The  very  idea  of  the  power  and 
the  right  of  the  people  to  establish  Government  presup- 
poses the  duty  of  every  individual  to  obey  the  establish- 
ed Government. 

All  obstructions  to  the  execution  of  the  Laws,  all 
combinations  and  associations,  under  whatever  plausi- 
ble character,  with  the  real  design  to  direct,  control, 
counteract,  or  awe  the  regular  deliberation  and  action 
of  the  constituted  authorities,  are  destructive  of  this 
fundamental  principle,  and  of  fatal  tendency.  They 
serve  to  organize  faction,  to  give  it  an  artificial  and  ex- 
traordinary force  ;  to  put,  in  the  place  of  the  delegated 
will  of  the  nation,  the  will  of  a  party,  often  a  small  but 
artful  and  enterprising  minority  of  the  community ; 
and,  according  to  the  alternate  triumphs  of  different 
parties,  to  make  the  public  administration  the  mirror 
of  the  ill-concerted  and  incongruous  projects  of  faction 
rather  than  the  organ  of  consistent  and  wholesome  plans 
digested  by  common  counsels,  and  modified  by  mutual 
interests. 

Of  all  the  dispositions  and  habits,  which  lead  to 


READINGS    FOR   PRACTICE.  165 

political  prosperity,  Keligion  and  Morality  are  indis- 
pensable supports.  In  vain  would  that  man  claim 
the  tribute  of  Patriotism,  who  should  labor  to  subvert 
these  great  pillars  of  human  happiness,  these  firmest  of 
props  of  the  duties  of  Men  and  Citizens. 

Promote,  then,  as  an  object  of  primary  importance, 
institutions  for  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge.  In 
proportion  as  the  structure  of  government  gives  force 
to  public  opinion,  it  is  essential  that  public  opinion 
should  be  enlightened. 

Observe  good  faith  and  justice  towards  all  nations  ; 
cultivate  peace  and  harmony  with  all.  Religion  and 
Morality  enjoin  this  conduct;  and  can  it  be  that  faith 
and  good  policy  does  not  equally  enjoin  it  ?  It  will  be 
worthy  of  a  free,  enlightened,  and,  at  no  distant  period, 
a  great  nation,  to  give  to  mankind  the  magnanimous 
and  too  novel  example  of  a  people  always  guided  by 
an  exalted  justice  and  benevolence. 

Against  the  insidious  wiles  of  foreign  influence,  (I 
conjure  you  to  believe  me,  fellow  citizens,)  the  jealousy 
of  a  free  people  ought  to  be  constantly  awake  ;  since 
history  and  experience  prove,  that  foreign  influence  is 
one  of  the  most  baneful  foes  of  Kepublican  Government. 
But  that  jealousy,  to  be  useful,  must  be  impartial  ;  else 
it  becomes  the  instrument  of  the  very  influence  to  be 
avoided,  instead  of  a  defence  «against  it. 

The  great  rule  of  conduct  for  us,  in  regard  to  foreign 
nations,  is,  in  extending  our  commercial  relations,  to 
have  with  them  as  little  'political  connexion  as  possible. 
So  far  as  we  have  already  formed  engagements,  let 
them  be  fulfilled  with  perfect  good  faith.  Here  let  us 
stop. 

Though,  in  viewing  the  incidents  of  my  administra- 
tion, I  am  unconscious  of  intentional  error,  I  am  never- 
theless too  sensible  of  my  defects  not  to  think  it  proba- 


166  VOICE   AND   ACTIOI^. 

ble  that  I  may  have  committed  many  errors.  What- 
ever they  may  be,  I  fervently  beseech  the  Almighty  to 
avert  or  mitigate  the  evils  to  which  they  may  tend.  I 
shall  also  carry  vrith  me  the  hope,  that  my  Country 
will  never  cease  to  view  them  with  indulgence;  and 
that,  after  forty-five  yeare  of  my  life  dedicated  to  its 
service  with  an  upright  zeal,  the  faults  of  incompetent 
abilities  will  be  consigned  to  oblivion,  as  myself  must 
soon  be  to  the  mansions  of  rest. 

Relying  on  its  kindness  in  this  as  in  other  things, 
and  actuated  by  that  fervent  love  towards  it,  which  is 
so  natural  to  a  man  who  views  in  it  the  native  soil  of 
himself  and  his  progenitors  for  several  generations,  I 
anticipate  with  pleasing  expectation  that  retreat,  in 
"which  I  promise  myself  to  realize,  without  alloy,  the 
sweet  enjoyment  of  partaking,  in  the  midst  of  my  fel- 
low-citizens, the  benign  influence  of  good  lawsimder  a 
free  government,  the  ever  favorite  object  of  my  heart, 
and  the  happy  reward,  as  I  trust,  of  our  mutual  cares, 
labors,  and  dangers. 

GEORGE  WASHIISrGTON^. 

United  States^  September  11th,  1796. 


THE   OAYALRY   OHAEQE. 

With  bray  of  the  trumpet 

And  roll  of  the  drum 
And  keen  ring  of  bugles, 

The  cavalry  come. 
Sharp  clank  the  steel  scabbards, 

The  bridle  chains  ring, 
And  foam  from  red  nostrils 

The  wild  chargers  fling. 


SELECTIONS. 


167 


Tramp  !  tramp  !  o'er  the  green  sward 

That  quivers  below, 
Scarce  held  by  the  curb-bit 

The  fierce  horses  go ! 
And  the  grim-visaged  colonel, 

"With  ear-rending  shout, 
Peals  forth  to  the  squadrons, 

ThQ  OY^QV—''  Trot  out  I '' 

One  hand  on  the  sabre. 
And  one  on  the  rein, 

The  troopers  move  forward 
In  line  on  the  plain. 

As  rings  the  word  ^^  gallop  !  " 

The  steel  scabbards  clank, 
And  each  rowel  is  pressed 

To  a  horse's  hot  flank ; 
And  swift  is  their  rush 

As  the  wild  torrent's  flow 
"When  it  pours  from  the  crag 

To  the  valley  below! 

"  CJiarge  !  "  thunders  the  leader : 

Like  shaft  from  the  bow 
Each  mad  hor-se  is  hurled 

On  the  wavering  foe. 
A  thousand  bright  sabres 

Are  gleaming  in  air; 
A  thousand  dark  horses 

Are  dashed  on  the  square. 


Kesistless  and  reckless 

Of  aught  may  betide, 
Like  demons,  not  mortals, 

The  wild  troopers  ride. 
Cut  right  and  cut  left! — 

For  the  parry  who  needs  ? 
The  bayonets  shiver 

Like  wind-shattered  reeds. 


168  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

The  wounds  that  are  dealt 

By  that  murderous  steel 
Will  never  yield  case 

For  tl:ie  surgeons  to  heal. 
Hurrah  !  they  are  broken — 

Hurrah  !  boys,  tliey  fly — 
None  linger  save  those 

"Who  but  linger  to  die. 

Rein  up  your  hot  horses 

And  call  in  your  men ; 
The  trumpet  sounds  '■^Eally 

To  color  !  " — again. 
Some  saddles  are  empty, 

Some  comrades  are  slain, 
And  some  noble  horses 

Lie  stark  on  the  plain  ; 
But  war's  a  chance  game,  boys, 

And  weeping  is  vain. 

THE   FIEST  AND   LAST   DINNER. 

Twelve  friends,  much  about  the  same  age,  and  fixed  by 
their  pursuits,  their  family  connection?,  and  other  local  in- 
terests, as  permanent  inhabitants  of  the  metropolis,  agreed 
one  day  vvhen  they  were  drinking  wine  at  the  Star  and  Garter 
at  Richmond,  to  institute  an  annual  dinner  among  themselves, 
under  the  following  regulations  : — That  they  should  dine 
alternately  at  each  other's  houses  on  the  first  and  last  day  of 
the  year ;  and  the  first  bottle  of  wine  uncorked  at  the  first 
'dinner  should  be  recorked  and  put  awny,  to  be  drunk  by  him 
who  should  be  the  last  of  their  number;  that  they  should 
never  admit  a  new  member;  that,  when  one  died,  eleven 
should  meet,  and  when  another  died,  ten  should,  and  so  on ; 
and  when  only  one  remained,  he  should  on  these  two  days 
dine  by  himself,  and  sit  the  usual  hours  at  his  solitary  table  ; 
but  the  first  time  he  had  so  dined,  lest  it  should  be  the  only 
one,  he  should  then  uncork  the  first  bottle,  and,  in  the  first 
glass,  drink  to  the  memory  of  all  who  were  gone. 


SELECTIONS.  169 

Some  thirty  years  had  now  glided  away,  and  only  ten  re- 
mained; but  the  stealing  liand  of  time  had  written  sundry 
changes  in  m;)st  legible  characters.  Ravea  locks  had  become 
grizzled ;  two  or  three  heads  had  not  as  many  locks  as  may 
be  reckoned  in  a  walk  of  half  a  mile  along  the  Regent's  Can  1 
— one  was  actually  covered  with  a  brown  wig— the  crow's 
feet  were  visible  in  the  corner  of  the  eye — good  old  port  and 
warm  Madeira  carried  against  hock,  claret,  red  burgundy, 
and  champagne — stews,  hashes,  and  ragouts,  grew  into  favor 
— crusts  were  rarely  called  for  to  relish  the  cheese  after  dinner 
— conversation  was  less  boisterous,  and  it  turned  cliiefly  upon 
politics  and  the  state  of  the  funds,  or  the  value  of  landed  prop- 
erty— apologies  were  made  for  coming  in  thick  shoes  and 
warm  btockings — the  doors  and  windows  were  more  carefully 
provided  with  list — the  fire  was  in  more  request — and  a  quiet 
game  of  whist  tilled  up  the  hours  that  were  wont  to  be  de- 
voted to  drinking,  singing,  and  riotous  merriment.  Two  rub- 
bers, a  cup  of  coifee,  and  at  home  by  eleven  o'clock,  was  the 
usual  cry,  when  the  fifth  or  sixth  glass  had  gone  round  after 
the  removal  of  the  cloth.  At  parting,  too,  there  was  now  a 
long  ceremony  in  the  hall,  buttoning  up  great  coats,  tying  on 
woolen  comforters,  fixing  silk  handkerchiefs  over  the  mouth 
and  up  to  the  ears,  and  grasping  sturdy  walking-canes  to  sup- 
port unsteady  feet. 

Their  fiftieth  anniversary  came,  and  death  had  indeed  been 
busy.  Four  little  old  men,  of  withered  appearance  and  de- 
crepit walk,  with  cracked  voices  and  dim,  rayless  eyes,  sat 
down  by  the  mercy  of  heaven,  (as  they  tremulously  declared,) 
to  celebrate,  for  the  fiftieth  time,  the  first  day  of  the  year,  to 
observe  the  frolic  compact,  which  half  a  century  before,  they 
had  entered  into  at  the  Star  and  Garter  at  Richmond.  Eight 
were  in  their  graves!  The  four  that  remained  stood  upon  its 
confines.  Yet  they  chirped  cheerily  over  their  glnss,  though 
they  could  scarcely  carry  it  to  their  lips,  if  more  than  h:df 
full :  and  cracked  their  jokes,  though  they  articulated  their 
words  with  difficulty,  and  heard  each  other  with  still  greater 
difficulty.  They  naumbled,  they  chattered,  they  laughed,  (if 
a  sort  of  strangled  wheezing  might  be  called  a  laugh,)  and  as 
the  wine  sent  their  icy  blood  in  warmer  pulses  tlirough  their 
8 


170  VOICE    AND   ACTI01S-. 

veins,  they  talked  of  their  past  as  if  it  were  but  a  yesterday 
that  liad  slipped  by  them,  and  of  their  future  as  if  it  were  but 
a  busy  century  that  lay  before  them. 

At  length  came  the  last  dinner  ;  and  tlie  survivor  of  the 
twelve,  upon  whose  her.d  four  score  atid  ten  winters  had 
sliowered  their  snow,  ate  his  solitary  meal.  It  so  chanced  that 
it  was  in  his  horse,  and  at  his  table,  they  celebrated  the  first. 
In  his  cellar,  too,  had  remained  the  bottle  they  had  then  un- 
corked, recorked,  and  which  he  was  that  day  tj  uncork  again. 
It  stood  beside  him.  With  a  feehle  and  reluctant  grasp  he 
took  the  "  frail  memorial  "  of  a  youthful  vow,  and  for  a  ino- 
meut  memory  was  faithful  to  her  office.  She  threw  open  the 
long  vista  of  buried  yejirs ;  and  his  heart  travelled  through 
them  all :  Their  lusty  and  blithesome  spring, — their  bright 
and  fervid  summer, — tlieir  ripe  and  temperate  autumn, — their 
chill,  but  not  too  frozen  winter.  He  saw,  as  in  a  mirror,  how 
one  by  one  the  laughing  companions  of  that  merry  hour,  at 
Richmond,  had  dropped  into  eternity.  He  felt  the  loneliness 
of  his  condition,  (for  he  had  eschewed  marriage,  and  in  the 
veins  of  no  living  creature  ran  a  drop  of  blood  whose  source 
was  in  his  own,)  and  as  he  drained  the  glass  which  he  had 
filled,  "to  the  memory  of  those  who  were  gone,"  the  tears 
slowly  trickled  down  the  deep  furrows  of  his  aged  face. 

.  He  had  fulfilled  one  part  of  his  vow,  and  he  prepared  him- 
self to  discharge  the  other  by  sitting  the  usual  number  of 
hours  at  his  desolate  table.  With  a  heavy  heart  he  resigned 
himself  to  the  gloom  of  his  own  thoughts — a  lethargic  sleep 
stole  over  him — his  head  fell  upon  his  bosom — confused  im- 
ages crowded  into  his  mind — he  babbled  to  himself' — was 
silent — and  when  his  servant  entered  the  room  alarmed  by  a 
noise  which  he  heard,  lie  found  his  master  stretched  upon  the 
carpet  at  the  foot  of  an  easy  chair,  out  of  which  he  had  fallen 
in  an  apoplectic  fit.  He  never  spoke  again,  nor  once  opened 
his  eyes,  though  the  vital  spark  was  not  extinct  till  the  follow- 
ing day.    And  this  was  the  Last  Dinner. 


SELECTIONS.  I7l 

THE    DEVIL    AND   THE    LAWYERS. 

The  devil  came  up  to  the  earth  one  day, 
And  into  a  court-house  wended  his  way, 
Just  as  an  attorney  with  a  very  grave  face 
Was  proceeding  to  argue  the  "points  in  a  case." 

Kow  a  lawyer  his  majesty  never  had  seen, 
For  to  his  dominions  none  ever  had  been, 
And  he  felt  very  anxious  the  reason  to  know, 
Why  none  had  been  sent  to  the  regions  below. 

'Twas  the  fault  of  his  agents  his  majesty  thought. 
That  none  of  the  lawyers  had  ever  been  caught. 
And  for  his  own  pleasure  he  felt  a  desire 
To  come  to  the  earth  and  the  reason  inquire. 

Well,  the  lawyer  who  rose  with  visage  so  grave 
Made  out  his  opponent  a  consummate  knave, 
And  the  devil  was  really  amused 
To  hear  the  attorney  so  greatly  abused. 

But  soon  as  the  speaker  had  come  to  a  close. 
The  counsel  opposing  then  fiercely  arose, 
And  heaped  such  abuse  on  the  head  of  the  first. 
That  made  him  a  villain  of  all  men  the  worst. 

Thus  they  quarreled,  contended  and  argued  so  long. 
It  was  hard  to  determine  which  lawyer  was  wrong. 
And  concluding  he  had  heard  quite  enough  of  the  fuss, 
Old  Nick  turned  away  and  soliloquized  thus  : 

"  If  all  they  have  said  of  each  othcT  be  true, 
The  devil  has  surely  been  robbed  of  his  due, 
But  Pm  satisfied  now,  its  all  very  well, 
For  the  lawyers  would  ruin  the  morals  of  hell. 

"  They've  puzzled  the  court  with  their  villainous  cavil, 
And  I'm  free  to  confess  they've  puzzled  the  devil ; 
My  agents  are  right  to  let  lawyers  alone, 
If  I  had  them  they'd  swindle  me  out  of  my  throne." 


172  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

VEEY    DAEK. 

The  crimson  tide  was  ebbing,  and  the  pulse  grew  weak  and 

faint, 
But  the  lips  of  that  brave  soldier  scorned  e'en  now  to  make 

complaint ; 
"Tall  in  rank  I  "  a  voice  called  to  him, — calm  and  low  was  his 

reply : 
*'  Yes,  if  I  can.  Til  do  it— T  will  do  it,  thougli  I  die." 
And  he  murmured,  when  the  life-light  had  died  out  to  just  a 

spark, 
*'  It  is  growing  very  dark,  mother — growing  very  dark." 

There  were  tears  in  manly  eyes,  then,  and  manly  heads  were 

bowed. 
Though  the  balls  flew  thick  around  them,  and  the  cannons 

thundered  loud ; 
They  gathered  round  the  spot  were  the  dying  soldier  lay, 
To  catch  the  broken  accents  he  was  struggling  then  to  say ; 
And  a  change  came  o'er  the  features  where  death  had  set  his 

mark, 
*'It  is  growing  very  dark,  mother — very,  very  dark." 

Far  away  his  mind  had  wandered,  to  Ohio's  hills  and  vales, 
Where  the  loved  ones  watched  and  waited  with  that  love  that 

never  fails ; 
He  was  with  them  as  in  childhood,  seated  in  the   cottage 

door, 
/Where  he  watched  the  evening  shadows  slowly  creeping  on 

the  floor ; 
Bend  down  closely,  comrades,  closely,  he  is  speaking  now,  and 

hark!— 
*'  It  is  growing  very  dark,  mother — very,  very  dark." 

He  was  dreaming  of  his  mother,   that  her  loving  hand  was 

pressed 
On  his  brow  for  one  short  moment,  ere  he  sank  away  to  rest; 
That  her  lips  were  now  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  his  cheek, 
And  a  voice  he  well  remembered  spoke  so  soft,  and  low,  and 

meek. 


SELECTIONS.  173 

Her  gentle  form  was  near  him,  her  footsteps  he  could  mark, 
"  But  'tis  growing  very  dark,  mother — mother,  very  dark." 

And  the  eye  that  once  had  kindled,  flashing  forth  with  patriot 

light. 
Slowly  gazing,  vainly  strove  to  pierce  the  gatherilig  gloom  of 

night. 
Ah !  poor  soldier !   Ah !  fond  mother,   you  are   severed  now 

for  aye. 
Cold  and  pulseless,  there  he  lies  now,  where  he  breathed  his 

life  away. 
Through  this  heavy  cloud  of  sorrow  shines  there  not  one 

heavenly  spark? 
Ah  I  it  has  grown  dark,  mother — very,  xery  dark. 

PAT    AND   THE    PIG. 

We  have  read  of  a  Pat  so  financially  flat. 

That  he  had  neither  money  nor  meat, 
And  when  hungry  and  thin,  it  was  whisper'd  by  sin, 

That  he  ought  to  steal  something  to  eat. 

So  he  went  to  the  sty  of  a  widow  near  by. 
And  he  gazed  on  the  tenant — poor  soul ! 

"  Arrah  now,"  said  he,  "  what  a  trate  that'll  be," 
And  the  pig  of  the  widow  he  stole. 

In  a  feast  he  rejoiced  ;  then  he  went  to  a  judge, 

For  in  spite  of  the  pork  and  the  lard. 
There  was  something  within,  that  was  sharp  as  a  pin, 

For  his  conscience  was  pricking  him  hard. 

And  he  said  with  a  tear,  *^  Will  your  Riverence  hear 

What  I  have  in  sorrow  to  say  ? " 
Then  the  story  he  told,  and  the  tale  did  unfold 

Of  the  pig  he  had  taken  away. 

And  the  judge  to  him  said,  ''  Ere  you  go  to  your  bed 
You  must  pay  for  the  pig  you  liave  taken. 

For  'tis  thus,  by  me  fowI,  you'll  be  saving  your  sowl, 
And  will  also  be  saving  your  bacon." 


174  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

"  Oli,  be  jabers,"  said  Pat,  "  I  can  niver  do  that — 

Not  the  ghost  of  a  hap'orth  have  I — 
And  I'm  wretched  indade  if  a  penny  it  nade 

Any  pace  for  me  conscience  to  buy." 

Then  in  sorrow  he  cried,  and  the  judge  he  replied, 
*'  Only  think  how  you'll  tremble  with  fear 

"VYhen  the  judge  you  shall  meet  at  the  great  judgment  seat 
And  the  widow  you  plundered  while  here." 

"  Will  the  widow  be  there  ?  "  whi-pered  Pat  with  a  stare, 
"  And  the  pig?  by  my  sowl,  is  it  true  ?  " 

"  They  will  surely  be  there,"  said  the  judge,  "  I  declare, 
And,  oh  Paddy!   what  then  will  you  do  ?  " 

^'  Many  thanks,"  an-wered  Pat,  ^'  for  your  telling  me  that, 

May  the  blessings  upon  you  be  big ! 
On  that  settlemint  day,- to  the  widow  PU  say, 

Mrs.  Flannegan  here  is  your  pig !  " 

THE    OLD   MAN    DREAMS. 

0  for  one  hour  of  youthful  joy ! 

Give  back  my  twentieth  spring! 
I'd  rather  laugh  a  bright-haired  boy 

Than  reign  a  gray -beard  king! 

Off  with  tlie  wrinkled  spoils  of  age ! 

Away  with  learning's  crown  ! 
Tear  out  life's  wisdom- written  page. 

And  dash  its  trophies  dowm! 

One  moment  let  my  life-blood  stream 

From  boyhood's  fount  of  flame ! 
Give  me  one  giddy,  reeling  dream 

Of  life  all  love  and  fame ! 

My  listening  angel  heard  the  prayer, 

And  calmly  smiling,  said, 
"  If  I  but  touch  thy  silvered  hair. 

Thy  hasty  wish  hath  sped. 


SELECTIONS.  175 

"  But  is  there  nothing  in  thy  track 

To  bid  thee  fondly  stay, 
While  the  swift  seasons  huvvj  back 

To  find  the  wished-for  day  ?  " 

Ah,  truest  soul  of  womankind ! 

"Without  thee,  what  were  life  ? 
One  bliss  I  cannot  leave  behind  : 

I'll  take — ^^my—  precious — wife! 

The  angel  took  a  sapphire  pen 

And  wrote  in  rainbow  dew, 
'^  The  man  would  be  a  boy  again, 

And  be  a  husband  too !  " 

"  And  is  there  nothing  yet  unsaid 

Before  the  change  of  years  ? 
Eemember,  all  their  gifts  have  fled 

With  those  dissolving  years  !  " 

Why,  yes  ;  for  memory  would  recall 

My  fond  paternal  joys ; 
I  could  not  bear  to  leave  them  all : 

I'll  take — my — girl — and — boys  ! 

The  smiling  angel  dropped  his  pen, — 

"  Why  this  will  never  do ; 
The  man  w^ould  be  a  boy  again, 

And  be  a  father  too !  " 

And  so  I  laughed, — ^my  laughter  woke 
The  household  with  its  noise, — 
And  wrote  my  dream,  when  morning  broke, 
To  please  the  gray-haired  boys. 


And  there  they  sat,  a-popping  corn, 
John  Styles  and  Susan  Cutter ; 

John  Styles  as  fat  as  any  ox, 
And  Susan  as  fat  as  butter. 


176  TOICE    AND    ACTION. 

And  there  tliey  sat  and  shelled  the  corn, 
And  raki  d  and  stirred  the  fire, 

And  Talked  of  different  kinds  of  care. 
And  hitched  their  chairs  up  nigher. 

Then  Snsan  she  the  popper  shook, 
Then  John  he  shook  the  popper; 

Till  hoth  their  faces  grew  as  red 
As  saucepans  made  of  copper. 

And  then  thy  shelled,  and  popped,  and  ate, 

All  kinds  of  fun  a-poking, 
While  he  haw-hawed  at  her  remarks. 

And  she  laughed  at  his  joking. 

And  still  they  pop*ped,  and  still  they  ate ; 

John's  mouth  was  like  a  hopper — 
And  stirred  the  fire,  and  sprinkled  salt, 

And  shook  and  shook  the  popper. 

The  clock  struck  nine— the  clock  struck  ten. 
And  still  the  corn  kept  popping ; 

It  struck  eleven,  and  then  struck  twelve  I 
And  still  no  signs  of  stopping. 

And  John  he  ate,  and  Sue  she  thought — 
The  corn  did  pop  and  patter  ; 

Till  John  cried  out  ^'  The  corn's  a-fire  I 
Why  Susan,  what's  the  matter?" 

Snid  she,  "  John  Styles,  it's  one  o'clock ; 

YouTl  die  of  indigestion  ; 
I'm  ^ick  of  all  this  popping  corn — 
Why  don't  you  pop  the  question  ? '' 


SELECTIONS.  177 

THE  BATTLE. 
After  the  manner  of  Schiller. 

BY    GEOEGE   W.    BIEDSEYE. 

Like  a  cloud  of  dread, 
Heavy  and  dead, 
Is  the  sound  of  their  earnest  anxious  tread, 
As,  with  silent  fife,  and  noiseless  drum. 
O'er  the  plain  of  summer  green  they  come. 
As  far  as  the  eye  can  see  they  spread, 

Each  to  take  a  hand  in  the  wild  iron  game 
For  the  stakes  of  honor  and  deathless  fame. 

E"ow  Fear  for  a  moment  has  birth. 

And,  shrinking,  their  eyes  seek  the  earth, 
While  their  hearts  beat  madly  and  prompt  them  to  fly. 

But  Fear  must  die  ! — 
So  in  front,  by  tlie  faces  as  pale  as  death, 
Now  the  General  gallops  with  quickened  breath ; — 

"  Halt  !  " — And  the  regiments  stand. 

Chained  by  the  word  of  command. 
'*Men!  Like  a  stain  on  the  morning  light, 
"What  taunts  and  defies  us  from  yonder  height  ? 
See,  'tis  the  foeman's  flaunting  flag!  " 

With  throbbing  hearts,  and  eyes  aflame, 

From  soldiers'  souls  the  answer  came : — 
*'  Yes,  'tis  the  fjeman's  cursed  flag !  " 
It  shall  fall,  though  in  falling  it  cost  us  life  I 
God  be  with  you — children  and  wife ! 

Hark — the  d;um  ! — ^Hark— the  fife  I  — 

Through  the  ranks  the  summons  pealing; 

Eousing  every  noble  feeling. 

Already  Fear  is  dead, 

And  rising  in  its  stead, 
A  patriot  courage  fires  each  votive  band, 
Born  of  their  love  for  home  and  native  land  I 
8* 


178  VOICE  AND  actio:n". 

A  prayer  is  wafted  across  the  plain : 
*'  God  grant^  my  hrother^ 
If  not  m  this  worlds  that  in  another 

We  meet  again  !  " 

Already  dart  War's  lightning-flaslies ! 
The  cannon-thunder  booms  and  crashes ! 
Now  they  shudder,  and  shrink, 
And  e'en  brave  hearts  quiver. 
As  they  feel  that  they  stand  on  the  brink 

Of  Death's  river; — 
But  a  shout  greets  their  ears: — "  Liberty  !  " 
And  fled  are  their  fears  : — "  Liberty  !  " 
'Tis  their  watchword,  and  earnest  and  strong 
Once  more  are  the  hearts  of  each  throng. 
As  they  pass  that  great  watchword  along. 
Whose  very  name  makes  the  breast  feel  free : 

"  Liberty!  " 
But  Death — dark  Death  has  his  Liberty  too  ; 
And  roams  the  ranks  of  the  warriors  through ! 
For  the  battle  rages 
Througli  fiery  stages. 
And  every  spark  of  the  soul  engages ; 
And,  through  the  awful  mist  and  cloud, 
En  wrapt  like  a  shroud 
Over  friend — over  foe, 
The  iron  dice  the  death- demons  throw  I 

Close  come  the  foemen  for  one  drend  embrace. 
'^  Ready  !  " — That  word  blanches  every  face. 
Down  on  their  knees  drop  the  foremost  men. 
Many,  alas!  rie'er  to  rise  again. 
"  Aim!  " — Steady  for  your  loved-ones'  sakes  I 
"  Fire  !  " — What  a  gap  the  lead-stream  makes  ! 
Those  behind  leap  over  the  corpses  bef  )re, 
And  the  front  is  a  solid  m:iss  once  more. 

But  reeling,  and  twirling. 

And  right  and  left  whirling, 
Now  with  ghnstly  grin,  now  with  frightful  frown, 
Dark  Death  in  his  dance  treads  the  bravest  down  ! 


SELECTIONS.  179 

Quenched  is  the  sun,  but  more  fiery  the  fight. 
Over  both  armies  broods  the  black  night ; 
While  the  prayer  of  anguish  bursts  o'er  the  plain : 
"  God  grant^  my  IrotJier^ 
If  not  in  this  woi'ld^  that  in  another 
We  meet  again  !  " 

Blood — blood,  the  air  is  dense 
With  the  cdor  that  sickens  every  sense. 
At  each  step  there  is  a  sucking  sound, 
And  blood — blood  oozes  from  the  ground. 
Living  and  dead  lie  in  mingled  mass  ; 
And  the  eager,  undaunted  ones,  as  they  pass, 
Over  them  stagger,  and  stumble,  and  fall ; 
And  their  feet  slide  and  slip, 
Like  a  reeling  ship. 
In  the  boiling  blood  that  is  over  all. 
The  dying  ones,  curst 
With  a  withering  thirst, 
Cry,  '*  Water,  for  God's  sake! — one  drop — only  onel  " 
But  water  there's  none  ! — 
Only  blood — hot  blood  from  war's  fountains  run  I 

Hither  and  thither  sways  the  fight. 

Darker,  and  darker  broods  the  nigiit; 
And  the  prayer  still  rises  from  the  plain  : 

"  God  gra7it,  my  brother^ 

If  not  in  this  world^  that  in  another 
We  meet  again.''"' 

Hark  !  — Who  rush  galloping  by  ? 

The  Adjutants  fly? 
The  Dragoons  bear  down  on  the  foe  I 

*'  Blow^  bugles  J  Mow  !  " 
For  the  awful  thunder  and  roar 
Of  their  cannon  are  heard  no  more. 

"  Victory^  brothers  !    Victory  /  "    * 
Terror  bursts  on  the  cowards  all ; — 

"  Huzza  !  "  their  colors  fall ! 


180  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

Ended,  at  last,  is  the  sharp-fonght  fight, 
And  day  flashes  over  the  conquered  night. 

Now  no  fonl  stains 

Our  flag  retains, — 
The  flag  of  the  faithful — the  flag  of  the  right ! 

Hark — the  drum  ! — hark — the  fife ! — 
No  longer  a  signal  for  strife ; 
But  merrily — cheerily  pealing, 
Eousing  each  thankful  feeling, 
Tiie  wounds  of  sorrow  healing, 
"Waking  old  joys  to  life. 
In  their  souFs  rejoice 
All  unite  in  one  mighty  voice. 
And  the  ranks  along 
Burst  forth  in  the  glorious  triumph  song 

Of — "  Victory  !     Victory  !  " 


But  through  hearts  of  joy  shoot  the  throbs  of  pain. 
Oh  the  dead — the  dead  on  the  battle  plain ! 

"  Farewell^  fallen  'brother  ! 

We  part  in  this  icorld^  hut  in  another 
We  meet  again!'''' 

THE   BIRTH    OF    ERm. 

Wid  all  condescinsion, 

I'd  turn  yer  attlnshin. 
To  what  I  would  minshin  iv  Erin  so  green, 

And  widhout  hisitayshin, 

I'd  show  how  dhat  nayshin. 
Became  iv  creayshin  the  gim  an'  the  queen. 

It  happened  wan  mornin', 

"Widhout  iny  warnin'. 
That  Yaynus  was  born  in  the  beautiful  say, 
.  An'  be  that  same  tokin', 

(An'  shure  'twas  provokin',) 
Her  pinions  war  soakin,'  an'  wudn't  give  play. 

So  Niptune  who  knew  her. 
Began  to  purshue  her. 


SELECTIONS. 


181 


In  ordher  to  woo  her,  the  wicked  owld  foo', 

An'  he  very  nigh  caught  her, 

A  top  iv  the  wather, 
Great  Jupither's  daughter,  who  cried  "  Poo-la-loo  !  " 

Bud  Jove,  the  great  Jaynious, 

Look'd  down  an'  saw  Yaynous, 
An'  N'ipiune  so  haynious  purshuin'  her  woild, 

So  he  roared  out  in  thundher  • 

He'd  tare  him  assundher ; 
An'  shure  'twas  no  wondher  for  tazing  his  choild. 

So  a  sthar  dhat  was  fly  in', 

Around  him  espyin'. 
He  sazed  widhout  sighin',  an'  hurled  it  belyow, 

Where  it  tumbled  loike  winkin', 

While  Mptune  was  sinkin'. 
An'  gave  him,  I'm  thinkin',  '  the  h'ath  iv  a  How  /' 

An'  dhat  sthar  was  dhryland, 

Both  lowland  and  highland, 
An'  form'd  a  swate  island,  the  land  iv  my  birth  ! 

Thus  plain  is  my  shtory, 

Kase  sint  down  from  glory, 
Tliat  Erin  so  hoary's  a  heaven  upon  earth. 

Thin  Vaynus  jumped  nately, 

On  Erin  so  shtately  ; 
But  faynted,  kase  lately  so  bothered,  an'  priss'd ; 

Which  her  much  did  bewildher ; 

But  ere  it  had  kill'd  her. 
Her  father  dl-htilld  her  a  dhrop  iv  the  bisht ! 

An  that  gla?s  so  victorious, 

It  made  her  feel  glorious, 
A  little  uproai-ious  I  fear  it  might  prove, 

Hi  nee  how  can  yez  blame  us 

That  Erin's  so  faymous 
For  beauty  J  an'  murtlier^  an"*  whukey^  arC  love  I 


182  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


METAPHYSICS. 


.  One  evening  the  old  sitting-room  at  my  Grandfather's 
became  the  scene  of  quite  a  curious  and  amusing  conversa- 
tion; 

There  was  Dr.  Sobersides,  my  Grandfather,  Uncle  Tim, 
Aunt  Judy,  Malachi,  our  hired  man,  and  the  schoolmaster,  vrbo 
had  called  in  to  w-irm  his  hands  and  get  a  drink  of  cider. 

Something  was  under  discussion,  and  my  Grandfather  could 
make  nothing  of  it. 

"  Pray,  Doctor,"  said  Uncle  Tim,  '"'tell  me  something  about 
Metaphysics,  I  have  often  heard  of  that  science  but  never  for 
my  life  could  make  anything  out  of  it." 

" Metapliysics,"  said  the  Doctor,  "is  the  science  of  ab- 
stractions." 

"  I  am  no  wiser  for  that  explanation." 

"  It  treats  of  matters  most  profound  and  sublime,  a  little 
difficult  perhaps  for  a  common  intellect,  or  an  unschooled  capa- 
ci;y  to  fathom,  but  not  the  less  important  on  that  account  to  all 
human  beings." 

"  What  does  it  teach  ?  "  said  the  schoolmaster. 

"It  is  not  so  much  applied  to  the  operation  of  teaching  as 
to  that  of  inquiring;  and  the  chief  inquiry  is,  as  to  whether 
things  are,  or  whether  they  are  not." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Uncle  Tim. 

"  Well,  take  for  example  this  earth,"  said  the  Doctor,  setting 
his  foot  slap  on  the  cat's  tail.     "  Now  the  earth  may  exist — " 

"  Who  the  dogs  ever  doubted  that  ?  " 

"  A  great  many  men,  and  some  very  learned  ones ;  although 
Bishop  Berkeley  has  proved  beyond  all  possible  gainsaying  or 
denial  that  it  does  not  exist.  The  case  is  clear ;  the  only 
thing  is  to  know  whether  we  sh.ill  believe  it  or  not." 

"  That  is  a  point  of  considerable  consequence  to  settle," 
said  my  Grandfather. 

"  I^ow  the  earth  may  exist — " 

"  But  how  is  all  this  to  be  found  out?  " 

"By  digging  down  to  the  first  principles,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"Ay,"  said  Malachi,  "there  is  nothing  equal  to  the  spade 


SELECTIONS. 


183 


and  pickaxe  ;  'tis  by  digging  that  we  can  iind  out  whether  the 
world  exists  or  not." 

"  That  is  true,  because  if  we  dig  to  the  bottom  of  the  earth 
and  find  no  foundation,  then  it  is  clenr  that  the  world  stands 
upon  nothing;  or  in  other  words  that  it  does  not  stand 
at  all,  therefore  it  stands  to  reason — "  "  Oh !  I  beg  pardon, 
I  use  tlie  wr,rd  digging  metaphorically,  meaning  the  [Tofound- 
e^t  cogitation  and  research  into  the  nature  of  things ;  that  is 
the  way  in  which  we  may  ascertain  as  to  whether  things  are 
or  whether  they  are  not." 

"  But,"  said  Uncle  Tim,  "  if  a  man  can't  believe  his  own 
^yes,  what  signifies  talking  about  it  ?  " 

"  Our  eyes  are  nothing  but  the  inlets  of  sensation,  and  when 
we  see  anything,  all  we  are  aware  of  is,  that  we  have  a  sensation 
of  it ;   we  are  sure  of  nothing  that  we  see  with  our  eyes." 

"  N'ot  without  spectacles,"  said  Aunt  Judy.  "  Plato  main- 
tains sensation  of  an  object — " 

"  In  common  cases,"  said  Uncle  Tim,  *'  those  who  utter 
nonsense  are  considered  bL)ckheads." 

*'  But  in  Metaphysics  it  is  entirely  different."  "  Kow  all 
this  is  hocus-pocus  to  me.  I  don't  understand  a  bit  more  of 
the  matter  than  I  did  at  first." 

*' As  I  was  saying,  Plato  maintains  sensation  of  an  object 
is  produced  by  a  succes  ion  of  images  or  counterfeits  sti-eam- 
ing  off  from  the  object  to  the  organs  of  sight.  Again  we  have 
it  explained  upon  the  principles  of  whirligigs." 

•'  No  doubt  of  that ;  but  when  a  man  gets  through  doubt- 
ing, what  does  he  begin  to  build  upon  in  the  metaphysical 
way  ?  "  said  my  grandfather. 

"  "Why.  he  begins  by  taking  something  for  granted." 

''  But  is  that  a  sure  way  of  going  to  work  ?  " 

*'  Why — it — is — the  only  thing  he  can  do, — Metaphysics,  to 
speak  exactly — " 

"  Th.'.t's  right,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  "  bring  it  down  to 
the  science  of  abstractions  and  then  we  shall  understand  it." 

**  'Tis  the  consideration  of  immateriality  or  the  mere  spirit 
and  essence  of  things." 

"Come,  come,  now  I  begin  to  understand  it,"  said  Aunt 
Judy. 


184  VOICE    AKD   ACTION. 

"  Thus  man  is  considered,  not  only  in  his  corporeality,  but 
in  his  essence,  or  capability  of  being ;  for  a  man,  metaphysically, 
or  to  metaphysical  purposes,  hath  two  natures." 

*'  What  man  ?  " 

'*  Why  any  man.  Malachi  there,  for  example  :  I  may  tako 
Malachi  as  Malachi  spiritual,  or,  Malachi  corporeal." 

"  That  is  true,  for  when  I  was  in  the  Militia  I  was  made  a 
corporal  and  carried  grog  to  the  drummer." 

"  Oh  !  That  is  quite  a  different  affair.  When  we  speak  of 
essence,  we  mean  the  essence  of  locality,  the  essence  of  dura- 
tion—" 

*' And  the  essence  of  Peppermint?  " 

*'  The  essence  I  mean  is  quite  a  different  affair." 

"  Something  too  fine  to  be  dribbled  through  the  worm  of 
a  still." 

*'  There  we  go  again.     I  declare  I'm  all  in  the  dark." 

"  It  is  a  tiling  tliat  has  no  matter;  that  is,  that  it  cannot  be 
felt,  heard,  smelt,  or  tasted.  It  has  no  substance  nor  solidity, 
large  nor  small,  hot  nor  cold,  long  nor  short." 

''  Then  what  is  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  ?  " 

"  Abstraction !  " 

"  Well,  Doctor,  what  do  you  say  to  a  pitchfork  as  an  ab- 
straction ?  " 

"  A  pitchfork  would  mean  none  in  particular,  but  one  in 
general,  and  would  be  a  thing  in  abstraction." 

"  It  would  be  a  thing  in  the  haymow." 

"  Doctor,  have  many  such  things  been  discovered  ? " 

*'  Discovered!  why  all  things,  whether  in  Heaven,  or  on  the 
earth,  or  in  the  waters  under  the  earth,  all  may  be  considered 
abstractions." 

*'  Indeed !  well  what  do  you  think  of  a  red  cow  for  an 
example  ?  " 

*'  A  red  cow,  considered  as  an  abstraction,  would  be  an 
animal  possessing  neither  hide  nor  horns,  bones  nor  flesh  ;  it 
would  have  no  color  at  all,  for  its  redne-s  would  be  the  mere 
counterfeit  or  imagination  of  such.  It  would  neither  go  to 
pasture,  chew  cud,  give  milk,  nor  do  anything  of  a  like 
nature."  "  A  dog's  foot — all  tho  metaphysics  under  the  sua 
wouldn't  make  a  pound  of  butter." 


SELECTIONS.  185 

"  That's  a  fact,''  said  Uncle  Tim,  and  here  the  conversation 
ended. 

E  PLITRIBUS  UNUM. 

Though  many  and  bright  are  the  stars  that  appear 

In  the  flag  of  our  country  unfurl'd; 
And  the  stripes  that  are  swelling  in  majesty  there, 

Like  a  rainbow  adorning  the  world ; 
Their  lights  are  unsullied  as  those  in  the  sky, 

By  a  deed  that  our  fathers  have  done, 
And  they  're  leagued  in  as  true  and  holy  a  tie. 

In  their  motto  of  ''  Many  in  oney 

From  the  hour  when  those  patriots  fearlessly  flung 

That  banner  of  starlight  abroad. 
Ever  true  to  themselves,  to  that  motto  they  clung, 

As  they  clung  to  the  promise  of  God; 
By  the  bayonet  trac'd  at  tlie  midnight  of  war. 

On  the  fields  where  our  glory  was  won 
Oh  !  perish  the  hand,  or  the  heart  that  would  mar 

Our  motto  of  *'  Many  in  one.'''' 

'Mid  the  smoke  of  the  contest,  the  cannon's  deep  roar, 

How  oft  it  hath  gathered  renown; 
While  those  stars  were  reflected  in  rivers  of  gore, 

"When  the  cross  and  the  lion  went  down. 
And  tho'  few  were  the  lights  in  the  gloom  of  that  hour. 

Yet  the  hearts  that  were  striking  below, 
Had  God  for  their  bulwark,  and  truth  for  their  power, 

And  stopp'd  not  to  number  their  foe. 

The  oppress'd  of  the  earth  to  that  standard  shall  fly, 

Wherever  its  folds  shall  be  spread ; 
And  the  exile  shall  feel  'tis  his  own  native  sky. 

Where  its  stars  shall  float  over  his  head; 
And  those  stars  shall  increase  till  the  fullness  of  time 

Its  millions  of  cycles  has  run  ; 
Divide  as  we  may  in  our  own  native  land. 

To  the  rest  of  the  world  we  are  one. 


186  VOICE   AND   ACTIOlSr. 

Then  up  with  our  flag !  let  it  stream  on  the  air, 

Though  our  fathers  are  cold  in  their  graves; 
They  had  arms  that  could  strike,  they  had  souls  that  could 
dare, 

And  their  sons  were  not  born  to  he  slaves ! 
Up,  up  with  that  banner  where'er  it  may  call, 

Our  millions  shall  rally  around ; 
A  nation  of  freemen  that  moment  shall  fall, 

When  its  stars  shall  be  trailed  on  the  ground. 

Capt.  Cutlee. 

ventriloquism. 

This  is  a  faculty  long  supposed  to  have  existed  only  with 
the  few,  considered  by  the  multitude  as  especially  gifted.  The 
principles  of  Elocution  prove  that  it  can  be  acquired.  Asa 
general  thing,  we  have  neither  necessity  nor  occasion  to  use 
the  voice  in  the  manner  in  which  it  is  produced.  Most  per- 
sons, in  former  times,  have  actually  believed  that  the  voice 
left  tlie  body  of  the  operator,  and  was  thrown  or  ^'' casV  in 
various  directions,  at  will.  This  is  impossible,  and  yet,  with 
all  it-^  absurdity,  it  is  difficult  to  convince  many,  even  at  the 
present  day,  to  the  contrary. 

It  is  only  in  seeming  that  the  sound  comes  from  any  indi- 
cated direction ;  it  is  merely  a  concentration  or  suppression  of 
the  voice  within  the  lungs  which  gives  the  appearance  of  dis- 
tance to  sound  thus  produced.  To  practice  ventriloquism 
effectively,  it  is  necessary  to  begin  with  simple  sounds,  making 
them  from  the  depth  of  the  lungs.  Take  the  vowels  first, 
then  the  explosives ;  render  them  clear  and  full.  After  the 
voice  is  well  established,  as  coming  from  the  lungs,  and  not 
on  the  lipS;  and  about  the  throat,  then  shut  the  teeth  and 
endeavor  to  give  the  sounds  in  the  mouth  ;  having  it  rounded 
and  arched,  to  give  greater  resonance. 

Finally,  close  the  lips  compactly  over  the  teeth,  and  give 
the  sounds,  as  before,  from  the  lungs :  be  sure  of  full  and  deep 
breathing  first.  To  make  the  sounds  very  faint,  to  represent 
extreme  distance,  compress  the  muscles  of  the  throat  clo.^ely 
together,  and  thus  prevent  the  sound  from  too  audibly  escap- 


VE]S"TRILOQUISM.  187 

ing.  Practice  these  sounds  in  every  variety  of  manner  until 
under  complete  control ;  and  then  let  ingenuity  devise  as  to 
language  and  charaoters  suitable  to  experiments  in  this  de- 
partment of  vocal  science.  It  is  very  simple,  and  only  requires 
practice  to  excel  in  it.  Almost  any  person  can  acquire  it  who 
has  ordinary  good  vocal  organs.  It  is  speaking  from  the  lungs 
rather  than  from  the  lips  and  throat.  It  is  capiial  practice  for 
the  voice  to  acquire  this  peculiar  command  over  the  lungs. 

SCENE. 

Hai>6  a  dox^  supposed  to  he  a  hotels  Peter^  the  landlord^  icitJiin, 

OPERATOR   AND    PETEE. 

Operator,  {Knoclcs  on  the  hox).  Peter !  halloo !  Peter ! 
(pause).  He  sleeps  very  sound — {to  audience).  Peter !  (JcnocJcs)^ 
Halloo!    Peter! 

Peter.  (Inside.)     Halloo,  there!  what  do  you  want ? 

Op.  I  want  to  come  in. 

Pet.  No,  no,  I  don't  want  you  in  here. 

Op.  If  you  don't  open  this  door,  Til  knock  your  sign  down. 

Pet.  If  you  do,  I'll  knock  you  down. 

Op.  Well,  Peter,  there  are  some  ladies  out  here  that  wish 
to  see  you. 

Pet.  No,  they  don't. 

Op.  Yes,  they  do. 

P^^.  Well,  I  know  they  don't. 

Op.  Well,  are  you  coming  out? 

Pet.  No,  I  won't. 

Op.  Well,  then,  I'll  open  the  door.  (Lifts  the  cover  of  the 
box.) 

Pel.  (SpeaUng  louler,  as  the  lox  is  opened.)  Shut  down 
the  door. 

Op.  {Shuts  it  down.) 

Pet.  (  Voice  as  lefore.)     I  don't  want  to  come  out  there. 

Op.  VYell,  have  you  the  keys  of  the  wine  cellar? 

Pet.  No,  I  hain't. 

Op.  Who  has,  then? 

Pet.  Jack  has  'em. 


188  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

Op.  Where  is  Jack? 

Fet,  Under  the  table. 

Op,  Under  the  table,  is  he  ? 

Pet.  Yes,  he  is. 

Op.  {LooTcs  under  the  table^  lifting  the  cloth.)  Jack,  holloa 
there ! 

Jach.  {Under  the  table^  in  a  gruff  wice.)  What  do  you 
want? 

Op.  I  would  like  to  come  in. 

JacK  Well,  why  don't  you  come  in  ? 

Op.  Have  you  the  keys  of  the  wine-cellar? 

Jach.  No,  I  haven't. 

Op.  {Goes  to  lox.)     Jack  says  he  has  not  the  keys. 

Pet.  Well,  I  have  n't  'em. 

Op.  {Goes  to  the  table.)  Well,  Jack,  have  you  any  good 
champagne? 

Jack.  Yes;  here,  hold  your  glass.  {Imitates  popping  the 
corlcfroma  bottle.) 

Op.  Well,  that  is  nice;  have  you  any  more? 

Jaclc.  Oh,  yes ;  hold  your  glass.     {Pops  another.) 

Op.  Wellj  gowd-night. 

JacTc.  Good-night!  come  again  when  you  cant  stay  so  long. 

Op.  {Again  to  box.)    Peter,  the  ladies  do  wish  to  see  you. 

Pet.  No  they  don't. 

Op.  Well,  what  is  the  reason  you  are  not  coming  out? 

Pet.  I  haven't  got  on  my  boots  yet. 

Op.  I'll  wait  a  moment.  {Pauses.)  Have  you  put  on 
your  boots  ? 

Pet.  Yes,  I  have  on  my  boots. 

Op.  Well,  what  is  the  reason  you  are  not  coming  out? 

Pet,  I  have  n't  put  on  my  stockii  gs  yet. 

Op.  Ha!  ha!  ha!    Why,  I  generally  put  on  mine  first. 

Pet.  Well,  I  don't. 

Op.  Why,  how  do  you  put  them  on  ? 

Pet.  Over  my  boots,  of  course. 

Op.  Oome,  Peter,  now  open  this  door. 

Pet.  I  won't;  no,  no;  go  'long  ofi". 

Op.  If  you  don't  let  me  in,  I'U  catch  one  of  your  chickens, 
and  put  him  in  there. 


VENTRILOQUISM.  189 

Pet.  ISTo,  no,  now  don't;  you  let  ray  chickens  alone. 

Op.  Will  you  let  me  in,  then? 

Fet,  No,  I  won't. 

Op.  Well  then,  I'll  catch  one.  {Imitates  the  peeping  of  a 
chicken^  pretendis  to  catch  it  and  throw  it  in.) 

Pet.  Take  'im  out  I  take  'im  out ! 

Op.  AYill  you  open  the  door  ?  Will  you  open  the  door  if 
I  '11  take  it  out  ? 

Pet.  Yes,  I  will. 

Op.  {Opens  the  co'cer!) 

Pet.  That's  right;  take  him  out;   take  him  out. 

Op.  {TaTces  out  chiclcen^  peeping.)     Now  open  the  door. 

Pet.  No,  I  won't. 

Op,  You  promised  to. 

Pet.  I  don't  care  if  I  did. 

Op.  Now,  I  am  determined  to  empty  you  out. 

Pet.  No,  no,  now  don't. 

Op.  Yes,  I  will.  Here  you  go.  (Tarns  over  the  hox^  with 
Peter  struggling  to  Tceep  in  it.) 

Pet.  {Loud  voice.)     No,  no,  now  don't. 

Op.  Yes,  I  will ;  here  you  go.  {Empties  box.)  Where  are 
you?  I  did  not  see  you  come  out  I 

Pet.  {Beneath  the  floor).  I'm  'way  down  in  the  cellar,  you 
old  fool! 

Op.  Good-night  to  you. 

Pet.  {Very  faint^  as  if  still  further  off .)     Good-night. 


1^0  YOICE   AND   ACTION. 

THE    OLD    CHAPEL   BELL. 

"Within  a  clmrchyard's  sacred  ground, 

Whose  fading  tablets  tell 
Where  they  who  built  the  village  church 

In  solemn  silence  dwell, 
Half  hidden  in  the  earth,  there  lies 

An  ancient  chapel  bell. 

Broken,  decayed  and  covered  o'er 
With  mouldering  leaves  and  rust; 

Its  very  name  and  date  concealed 
Beneath  a  cankering  riist; 

Forgotten — like  its  early  friends, 
Who  sleep  in  neighboring  dust. 

Yet  it  was  once  a  trusty  bell. 

Of  most  sonorous  lung. 
And  many  a  joyous  wedding  peal, 

And  many  a  knell  had  rung, 
'Ere  Time  had  cracked  its  brazen  sides 

And  broke  its  tongue. 

And  many  a  youthful  heart  had  danced 

In  merry  Christmas-time, 
To  hear  its  pleasant  roundelay, 

Eung  out  in  ringing  rhyme  ; 
And  many  a  worldly  thought  been  checked 

To  list  its  Sabbath  cliime. 

A  youth — a  bright  and  happy  boy, 

One  sultry  summer's  day. 
Aweary  of  his  bat  and  ball. 

Chanced  hitherward  to  stray, 
To  read  a  little  book  he  had 

And  rest  him  from  his  play. 

"  A  soft  and  shady  spot  is  this  I  " 

The  ro»y  youngster  cried. 
And  sat  him  down,  beneath  a  tree, 

That  ancient  Bell  beside ; 
(But,  Irdden  in  the  tangled  grass, 

The  Bell  he  ne'er  espied.) 


SELECTIONS.  191 

Anon,  a  mist  fell,  on  his  book, 

The  letters  seemed  to  stir. 
And  though,  full  oft,  his  flagging  sight 

The  boy  essayed  to  spur. 
The  mazy  page  was  quickly  lost 

Beneath  a  cloudy  blur. 

And  while  he  marvelled  much  at  this, 

And  wondered  how  it  came, 
He  felt  a  languor  creeping  o'er 

His  young  and  weary  frame, 
And  heard  a  voice,  a  gentle  voice, 

That  plainly  spoke  his  name. 

That  gentle  voice  that  named  his  name, 

Entranced  him  like  a  spell, 
Upon  his  ear,  so  very  near 

And  suddenly  it  fell ; 
Yet  soft  and  musical,  as  'twere 

The  whisper  of  a  bell. 

"  Since  last  I  spoke,"  the  voice  began, — 

" Seems  many  a  dreary  year! 
(Albeit,  'tis  only  since  thy  birth 

I've  lain  neglected  here  ;) 
Pray  list,  while  I  rehearse  a  tale 

Behooves  thee  much  to  hear. 

"  Once,  from  yon  ivied  tower,  I  watched 

The  villagers,  around. 
And  gave  to  all  their  joys  and  griefs, 

A  sympathetic  sound. 
But  most  are  sleeping,  now,  within 

This  consecrated  ground. 

"  I  used  to  ring  my  merriest  peal 

To  hail  the  blushing  bride  ; 
I  sadly  tolled  for  men  cut  down 

In  strength  and  manly  pride  ; 
And  solemnly, — not  mournfully, — 

When  little  children  died. 


192  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

"  But,  chief,  my  duty  was  to  bid 

The  villagers  repair, 
On  each  returning  Sabbath  morn, 

Unto  the  House  of  Prayer, 
And  in  his  own  appointed  place, 

The  Saviour's  mercy  share. 

*'  Ah  !  well  I  mind  me  of  a  child, 

A  gleesome,  happy  maid, 
"Who  came  with  constant  steps  to  church 

In  comely  garb  arrayed, 
And  knelt  her  down  full  solemnly, 

And  penitently  prayed. 

"  Years  rolled  away, — and  I  beheld 
The  child  to  woman  grown  ; 

Her  cheek  was  fairer,  and  her  eye 
With  brighter  lustre  shone ; 

But  childhood's  truth  and  innocence 
"Were  still  the  maiden's  own. 

*'  I  never  rang  a  merrier  peal, 
Than  when,  a  joyous  bride, 

She  stood  beneath  the  sacred  porch, 
A  noble  youth  beside, 

And  plighted  him  her  maiden  troth, 
In  maiden  love  and  pride. 

*'  I  never  tolled  a  deeper  knell. 
Than  when,  in  after  years, 

They  laid  her  in  the  churchyard  here, 
"Wliere  this  low  mound  appears — 

(The  very  grave,  my  boy,  that  you 
Are  watering  now  with  tears.") 

The  boy  awoke,  as  from  a  dream. 
And,  thoughtful,  looked  around, 

But  nothing  saw,  save  at  his  feet 
His  mother's  lowly  mound, 

And  by  its  side  that  ancient  Bell, 
Half  hidden  in  the  ground. 


SELECTIONS.  193 


THE   FREI^CHMAN  AND   THE   FLEA   POWDEE. 

A  Frenchman  once— so  runs  a  certain  ditty — 
Had  crossed  the  Straits  to  famous  London  city, 
To  get  a  living  by  the  arts  of  France, 
And  teach  bis  neighbor,  rough  John  Bull,  to  dance. 
But  lacking  pupils,  vain  was  all  his  skill ; 
His  fortunes  sank  from  low  to  lower  still, 
Until  at  last,  pathetic  to  relate, 
Poor  Monsieur  landed  at  starvation's  gate. 
Standing,  one  day,  beside  a  cook-shop  door, 
And  gazing  in,  with  aggravation  sore. 
He  mused  within  himself  what  he  should  do 
To  fill  his  empty  maw,  and  pocket  too. 
By  nature  shrewd,  be  soon  contrived  a  plan, 
And  thus  to  execute  it  straight  beccan : 
A  piece  of  common  brick  he  quickly  found. 
And  with  a  harder  stone  to  powder  ground. 
Then  wrapped  the  dust  in  many  a  dainty  piece 
Of  paper,  labelled  '*  Poison  for  de  Fleas," 
And  sallied  forth,  his  roguish  trick  to  try. 
To  show  his  treasures,  and  to  see  w^bo'd  buy. 
From  street  to  stre.^t  he  cried,  with  lusty  yell, 
*' Here's  grand  and  sovereign  flee  poudare  to  sell!  '* 
And  fickle  Fortune  seemed  to  smile  at  last. 
For  soon  a  woman  hailed  him  as  he  passed. 
Struck  a  quick  bargain  with  him  for  the  lot, 
And  made  him  five  crowns  richer  on  the  spot. 
Our  wight,  encouraged  by  this  ready  sale, 
"Went  into  business  on  a  larger  scale, 
And  soon  throughout  all  London  scattered  he 
The  "only  genuine  poudare  for  de  flea." 
Engaged,  one  morning,  in  his  new  vocation 
Of  mingled  boasting  and  dissimulation. 
He  thought  he  heard  himself  in  anger  called; 
And,  sure  enough,  the  self-same  woman  bawled, 
In  not  a  mild  or  very  tender  mood, 
From  the  same  window  wh^re  tiefqre  ^he  stood. 
9 


194  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

"Hey,  there!  "  said  she,  "you  Monsher  Powder-man  I 

Escape  my  clutches  now,  sir,  if  you  can  ! 

I'll  let  you  dirty  thieving  Frenchmen  know, 

That  decent  people  won't  be  cheated  so." 

Then  spoke  Monsieur,  and  heaved  a  saintly  sigh, 

With  humble  attitude  and  tearful  eye. 

"  Al),  Madam  !  s'il  vous  plait,  attendez-vous — 

I  vill  dis  leetle  ting  explain  to  you. 

My  poudare  gran !  magnifique  !   why  abuse  him  ? 

Aha !  I  show  you  Jiow  to  use  him. 

First,  you  must  wait  until  you  catch  deflea; 

Den,  tickle  he  on  the  petite  rib,  you  see ; 

And  when  he  laugh — ah:i !  he  ope  his  throat ; 

Den  polce  de  poudare  down  ! — Begae  !  he  choke. 


PAT   AND   HIS   MUSKET. 

I've  heard  a  good  joke  of  an  Emerald  Pat, 

"Who  kept  a  few  brains  and  a  brick  in  his  hat. 

He  was  bound  to  go  hunting ;  so,  taking  his  gun, 

He  rammed  down  a  charge — this  was  load  number  one; 

Then  put  in  the  priming,  and  when  all  was  done, 

By  way  of  experiment,  thought  he  would  try. 

And  see  if,  perchance,  he  might  hit  tlie  "bull's-eye." 

He  straightened  himself  till  he  made  a  good  figure, 

Took  deliberate  aim,  and  then  pulled  the  trigger. 

Click!  went  the  hammer,  but  nothing  exploded; 

"  And  sure,"  muttered  Paddy,  "  the  gun  isn't  loaded  1  " 

So  down  went  another  charge,  just  as  before, 

Unless  this  contained  just  a  grain  or  two  more; 

Once  more  he  got  ready,  and  took  a  good  aim. 

And  pulled  on  tlie  trigger — effect  quite  the  same. 

*'  I  wonder  can  this  be  still  shcotin'  ?  "  said  Pat; 

"  I  put  down  a  load  now  I'm  certain  of  that ; 

I'll  try  it  again,  and  then  we  shall  see !  " 

So  down  went  the  cartridge  of  load  number  three! 

Then  trying  again  with  a  confident  air, 

And  succeeding  no  b-  tter,  gave  up  in  despair. 


SELECTIONS.  195 

« 

Just  at  that  moment  he  happened  to  spy 

His  friend  Michael  Milligan  hurrying  by. 

"  Hollo,  Mike  !  come  here,  and  just  try  on  my  gun ; 

I've  been  tryin'  to  shoot  till  I'm  tired  and  done !  " 

So  Mike  took  the  gun,  and  pricked  up  the  powder, 

Bemarking  to  Pat,  "  it  would  make  it  go  louder  ; " 

Then  placing  it  firmly  against  his  right  arm, 

And  never  suspecting  it  might  do  him  harm, 

He  pointed  the  piece  in  the  proper  direction, 

And  pulled  on  the  trigger  without  more  reflection — 

When  off  went  the  gun !  like  a  country  election, 

And  Michael  "  went  off"  in  another  direction! 

*'  Hold  on  !  "  shouted  Pat,  "  hold  on  to  the  gun  I 

I  put  in  three  loads,  and  you've  fired  off  but  one  I 

Get  up,  and  be  careful,  don't  hold  it  so  livel, 

Or  else  we  are  both  of  us  gone  to  the  divil !  " 

*'  I'm  going,"  says  Michael,  *'  it's  right  that  I  wint, 

I've  got  myself  kicked,  and  it's  time  for  the  hint." 

MTJLEOONEY. 

"  Mulrooney,  come  here ;  I  want  you  to  pnt  about  two  double- 
hands-full  of  bran  into  a  bucket  of  warm  water,  and  after  stir- 
ring the  mixture  well  to  give  it  to  the  black  fillies.  That's 
what  we  call  a  bran  mash  in  this  country.  Now  do  you  un- 
derstand me?"  "  Good  luck  to  yer  honor,  and  what  'ud  I  be 
good  for  if  I  didn't?  an'  shure  its  the  ould  counthry  mash  af- 
ther  all." 

"  I  thought  as  much,  so  now  away  with  you  and  be  sure 
you  don't  make  any  mistake." 

''  'Tisn't  at  all  likely  I'll  do  that,  sir ;  but  about  the  warm 
wather  and  the  nagur,  shall  I  tell  her  'tis  yer  'onor's  ordhera  ? " 

*'  Certainly  !  "  Away  he  went.  About  ten  minutes  after, 
Mrs.  Stanley  entering  the  room  remarked,  "  I  do  wish  you 
would  go  into  the  kitchen.  I  am  afraid  there  is  something 
wrong  between  that  Irishman  and  Phillis ;  they  are  quarrel- 
ling about  orders  he  says  you  gave  him." 

'  Oh  !  it  is  nothing,  my  dear,  I  sent  Mulrooney  into  the 
kitchen  to  get  some  water  that  he  might  feed  the  horses,  and 


196  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

I  presume  Phillis  has  refused  to  let  him  have  any.*"  All  at  once 
we  heard  a  distant  crash  like  sound  of  plates  and  dishes. 
Mrs.  Stanley  started  in  alarm.  *'  Do  g.)  and  see  what  the  mat- 
ter is,  I  am  sure  there  is  something  wrong,  that  Irishman  will 
be  the  death  of  Phillis  one  of  these  days."  I  now  passed 
through  the  hall,  and  as  I  approached,  the  noise  increased. 
First  of  all  came  the  shrill  voice  of  Phillis,  "  Ha'  dun,  I  say ; 
I  tell  ye  I  won't  hab  nuffin  to  do  wid  de  stuff  no  way ;  go  way, 
you  poor  white  trash ;  I  tell  yer  I  won't." 

*'  Yer  stupid  an'  contrary  old  nagur,  don't  I  tell  ye  tish  the 
master's  ordhers  ? " 

"  Tain't  no  such  thing,  I  tell  yer  I  won't ;  who  eber  heerd 
of  a  cullerd  wooman  a-takin'  a  bran  mash  afore,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  " 

"  You  haythin  ould  nagur,  don't  I  tell  ye  'tish  the  masther's 
ordhers  ?  '* 

*'  Taint  no  such  thing,  I'll  call  missus,  dat  I  will." 

I  thought  the  joke  had  proceeded  %r  enough,  so  I  flung  open 
the  door.  The  floor  was  strewn  with  broken  dishes,  tables 
were  overturned,  and  in  the  midst  was  Phillis  seated  on 
a  broken  chair  sputtering  and  gasping  as  Mulrooney  had  at 
this  moment  seized  her.  Her  head  was  under  his  left  arm 
while  with  his  right  he  was  conveying  a  tin-cup  of  the  warm 
bran-mash  to  her  up  turned  mouth.  "An'  sure,  sir,  what'ud 
I  be  doin'  but  given'  black  Phillis  the  bran  mash  accordin'  to 
yer  orders  ?  "     "  Oh !  you  stupid  Irishman." 

He  walked  away  muttering,  "An'  if  they  calls  horses 
Phillis,  an'  Phillis  horses,  I'd  like  to  know  how  I'm  ever  to 
find  out  the  difference." 


EARLY  EisiNG. — John  G.  Saxe, 

"  God  bless  the  man  that  first  invented  sleep  I  " 
So  Sancho  Panza  said,  and  so  say  I ; 

And  bless  him,  also,  that  he  didn't  keep 
His  great  discoveiy  to  himself ;  or  try 

To  make  it — as  the  lucky  fellow  might — 
A  close  monopoly  by  "  patent  right !  " 


SELECTIONS.  197 

Yes — bless-  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep, 

(I  really  can't  avoid  the  iteration ;) 
But  blast  the  man  with  curses  loud  and  deep, 

Whatever  the  rascal's  name,  or  age  or  station, 
"Who  first  invented,  and  went  round  advising 

That  artificial  cut-ofi:* — early  rising  ! 

"  Else  with  the  lark,  and  with  the  lark  to  bed;" 
Observes  some  solemn,  sentimental  owl. 

Maxims  like  these  are  very  cheaply  said ; 
But  e'er  you  make  yourself  a  fool  or  fowl, 

Pray,  just  inquire  about  the  rise — and  fall. 
And  whether  larks  have  any  bed  at  all. 

The  "  time  for  honest  folks  to  be  in  bed,'* 

Is  in  the  morning,  if  I  reason  right ; 
And  he  who  cannot  keep  his  precious  head 

Upon  his  pillow  till  'tis  fairly  light. 
And  so  enjoy  his  forty  niorning  winks, 

Is  up  to  knavery  •  or  else — he  drinks  ! 

Thomson,  who  sung  about  the  ''  Seasons,"  said 
It  was  a  glorious  thing  to  rise  in  season ; 

But  then  he  said  it; — lying — in  Ms  led 
At  10  o'clock  A.  M. — the  very  reason 

He  wrote  so  charmingly  1     The  simple  fact  is, 
His  preaching  wasn't  sanctioned  by  his  practice. 

'Tis,  doubtless,  well  to  be  sometimes  aw^ake — 

Awake  to  duty,  and  awake  to  truth— 
But  when,  alas !  a  nice  review  we  take 

Of  our  best  deeds  and  days,  we  find,  in  sooth. 
The  hours  that  leave  the  slightest  cause  to  weep. 

Are  those  we  passed  in  childhood,  or — asleep. 

'Tis  beautiful  to  leave  the  world  awhile, 

For  the  soft  visions  of  the  gentle  night ;   ,.  * 

And  free,  at  last,  from  mortal  care  or  guile, 
To  live,  as  only  in  the  angel's  sight. 

In  sleep's  sweet  realm  so  easily  shut  in. 
Where,  at  the  worst,  we  only  dream  of  sin. 


198  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

So  let  us  sleep,  and  give  the  maker  praise. 

I  like  the  lad  who,  when  his  father  thought 
To  clip  his  morning  nap  hy  hackneyed  phrase 

Of  vagrant  worm  by  early  songster  caught, 
Cried,  ''  Served  him  right !  it's  not  at  all  surprising; 

The  worm  was  punished,  sir,  fur  early  rising !  " 


SHORT  EXTRACTS  ARRANGED  FOR 
SPEAKma 


ELOQUENCE. 

With  gifts  which  raise  man  far  above  the  brute  crea- 
tion, God  has  coupled  powers  of  expression  which  are  equally 
pre-eminent,  and  without  which,  those  gifts  would  have  been 
all  but  useless.  But,  until  duly  trained,  they  are  crude,  irregu- 
lar, and  impulsive.  As  an  art,  eloquence  would  cultivate  all 
the  capacities  of  the  soul  with  reference  to  its  own  specific 
object.  It  teaches  how  the  orator  is  to  deal  with  his  powers, 
and  by  what  means  he  is  to  train  them  to  their  perfect  matu- 
aity ;  how  he  is  to  discipline  judgment,  enrich  and  yet  chasten 
imagination,  refine  taste,  and  strengthen  those  generous  senti- 
ments which  assure  him  access  to  the  hearts  of  others.  It 
aims  to  give  him,  too,  a  high  idea  of  the  power  and  dignity  of 
his  art,  and  to  inspire  him  with  an  ambition  for  its  greatest 
achievments.  AU  this  is  inculcated,  not  in  precept  merely,  but 
by  noble  examples  of  the  art,  and  also  by  frequent  exercises  ; 
and  when,  .by  such  means,  the  faculties  of  the  orator  are  un- 
folded, this  art  strives  to  subject  them  to  his  complete  control, 
60  that,  when  he  bids,  they  shall  come  forth  obediently,  and  do 
their  appropriate  work.  The  eloquence  of  the  uncultivated  is 
called  forth  by  occasions  and  emergencies.    It  is  not  at  com- 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.  199 

mand.  When  wanted,  tliej  are  not  always  at  hand ;  and  when 
drawn  forth  by  circumstances,  they  often  transport  him  be- 
yond the  mark.  But  the  eloquence  of  the  trained  and  culti- 
vated speaker  is  a  power,  though  often  dormant,  yet  always 
ready  for  use  :  when  summoned  it  comes,  though  there  be  no 
favoring  circumstances.  It  can  speak  even  to  reluctant  ears, 
and  compel  an  audience  to  listen.  Neglected  and  despised 
trutlis  it  can  invest  with  majesty,  such  that  they  shall  bow 
men's  hearts  :  and  <*i  tnste,  however  fastidious  or  hypercritical, 
if  just,  it  can  satisfy  and  delight. 


THE  PURIFYIXG  INFLUENCE  OF  POETRY. 

Poetry,  far  from  injuring  society,  is  one  of  tlie  great  instru- 
ments of  its  refinement  and  exaltation.  It  lifts  the  mind  above 
ordinary  life,  gives  it  a  respite  from  depressing  cares,  and 
awakens  the  consciousness  of  its  affinity  with  what  is  pure 
and  noble.  In  its  legitimate  and  highest  eiforts,  it  has  the  same 
tendency  and  aim  with  religion, — that  is,  to  spiritualize  our 
nature.  True,  poetry  has  been  made  the  in  trument  of  vice, 
the  pander  of  bad  passions  :  but  when  genius  thus  stoops,  it 
dims  its  fires,  and  parts  with  much  of  its  power ;  and  when 
poetry  is  enslaved  to  licentiousness  and  misanthropy,  she  can- 
not wholly  forget  her  true  vocation.  Strains  of  pure  feeling, 
touches  of  tendeiness,  images  of  innocent  happiness,  sympa- 
thies with  what  is  good  in  our  nature,  bursts  of  scorn  and  in- 
dignation at  the  hollowness  of  the  world,  passages  true  to  our 
moral  nature,  often  escape  in  an  immoral  work,  and  show  us 
how  hard  it  is  for  a  gifted  spirit  to  divorce  itself  wholly  from 
what  is  good.  Poetry  has  a  natural  alliance  with  our  best  af- 
fections. It  delights  in  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  outward 
nature  and  of  the  soul.  It  indeed  portrays  with  terrible  energy 
the  excesses  of  the  passions  ;  but  they  are  passions  which  show  a 
mighty  nature,  which  are  full  of  power,  which  command,  awe, 
and  excite  a  deep,  though  shuddering  sympathy.  Its  great  ten- 
dency and  purpose  is  to  carry  the  mind  beyond  and  above  the 
beaten,  dusty,  weary  walks  of  ordinary  life ;  to  lift  it  into  a  purer 
element,  and  to  breathe  into  it  more  profound  and  generous  emo- 


200  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

tion.  This  power  of  poetry  to  refine  our  views  of  life  and  happi- 
ness is  more  and  more  needed  as  society  advances.  It  is  needed 
to  withstand  the  encroachments  of  heartless  and  artificial  man- 
ners, which  m.ike  civilization  so  tame  and  uninteresting,  and 
as  men  multiply  bv)dily  comforts,  to  prevent  them  from  sinking 
into  an  earthly,  material,  epicurean  life. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Shakespeare,  by  general  concession,  is  the  greatest  name  in 
literature.  Such  various,  nnd  at  the  same  time,  such  exalted  pow- 
ers, probably  never  met  together  in  the  mind  of  any  other  human 
being.  "Whether  we  regard  the  kind  or  degree  of  his  faculties, 
he  not  only  is,  but  is  everywhere  allowed  to  be,  the  prodigy 
of  our  race.  Of  the  various  excellencies  of  literary  production, 
whether  as  a  thinktr  or  a  s}^eaker,  in  none  has  he  a  superior, 
in  many  he  has  no  equal,  iti  some  he  has  scarcely  a  competitor. 
He  is  emphatically  the  eye,  tongue,  heart  of  humanity,  and  has 
given  voice  and  utterance  to  whatever  we  are,  and  whatever  we 
see.  On  all  scores,  indeed,  he  is  the  finest  piece  of  work  human 
nature  has  yet  achieved  ;  in  the  whole  catalogue  of  uninspind 
men,  there  is  no  other  name  that  could  not  better  be  spared. 

In  vital  powers,  Shakspeare's  mind  seems  as  inexhaustible 
as  nature  is  in  the  materials  for  their  embodiment.  For 
boundless  variety  and  perfect  individuality  of  character,  he  is 
quite  proverbial.  All  his  charact^  rs,  from  the  least  to  the 
greatest,  numerous  as  they  are,  stand  out  in  tlie  most  intense 
individual  life,  perfectly  rounded  in  with  the  distinctness  of 
actual  persons,  so  that  we  know  them  as  well  and  remember 
them  as  distinctly  as  we  do  our  most  intimate  friends  ;  and 
whether  the  development  of  them  be  concentrated  into  a  few 
lines,  or  extended  through  a  whole  play,  it  seems  free  alike 
from  deficiency  and  from  redundancy,  so  that  nothing  can  be 
added  or  taken  away  without  injuring  the  effect.  For  aught 
that  we  can  see,  he  might  have  gone  on  until  now,  had  he  lived 
so  long,  creating  characters  just  as  vital,  as  original,  as  indi- 
vidual, as  any  he  has  given  us.  He  seems,  indeed,  to  have 
wanted  nothing  but  length  of  days,  to  have  rivalled  nature 
herself  in  the  number  as  well  as  the  truth  of  his  characters. 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.  201 

THE  RUSSIAN  OAMPAIGK 

By  the  irretrievable  disasters  of  the  Eussian  campaign,  the 
empire  of  the  world  was  effectually  placed  beyond  the  grasp  of 
Napoleon.  The  tide  of  conquest  had  ebbed,  never  to  return. 
He  was  no  longer  the  Invincible.  The  weight  of  military 
power  which  had  kept  down  the  spirit  of  nations  was  removed, 
and  their  long-smothered  sense  of  wrong  and  insult  broke 
forth  like  the  fires  of  a  volcano.  Bonaparte  might  still,  per- 
haps, have  secured  the  throne  of  France,  but  that  of  Europe 
was  gone.  This,  however,  he  did  not,  could  not,  would  not 
understand.  He  had  connected  with  himself  too  obstinately 
the  character  of  the  world's  master,  to  be  able  to  relinquish 
it.  Amidst  the  dark  omens  which  gathered  round  him,  he 
still  saw,  in  his  past  wonderful  escapes,  and  in  his  own  exagge- 
rated energies,  the  means  of  rebuilding  his  fallen  power.  To  a 
mind  which  has  placed  its  whole  happiness  in  having  no  equal,the 
thought  of  descending  to  the  level  even  of  Kings  is  intolerable. 
Napoleon's  mind  had  been  stretched  by  such  ideas  of  universal 
empire,  that  France,  though  reaching  from  the  Rhine  to  the 
Pyrenees,  seemed  narrow  to  him.  He  could  not  be  shut  up  iii 
it.  Accordingly,  as  his  fortunes  darkened,  we  see  no  signs  of 
relenting.  He  could  not  wear,  he  said,  "  a  tarnished  crown," 
that  is,  a  crown  no  brighter  than  those  of  Austria  and  Russia. 
He  continued  to  use  a  master's  tone.  lie  showed  no  change, 
but  such  as  opposition  works  in  the  obstinate  ;  he  lost  his  tem- 
per and  grew  sour.  He  heaped  reproaches  on  his  generals  and 
the  legislative  body.  It  is  a  strikjng  example  of  retribution 
that  the  very  vehemence  and  sternness  of  his  will,  which  had 
borne  him  onward  to  dominion,  now  drove  him  to  the  rejec- 
tion of  terms  which  might  have  left  him  a  formidable  power, 
and  thus  made  his  ruin  entire.     Thus  fell  Napoleon. 


ENTHUSIASM. 

Enthusiasm  in  its  highest  condition  is  that  ecstasy  of  mind, 
that  lively  transport  of  the  soul,  which  is  excited  by  the  pur- 
suit or  contemplation  of  some  great  and  noble  object,  the 


202  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

novelty  of  which  awakens  attention,  the  truth  of  which  fixes 
the  understanding,  and  the  grandeur  of  which,  by  firing  the 
fancy,  engages  the  aid  of  every  passion,  and  prompts  the  mind 
to  the  highest  undertakings.  A  just  and  rightly  formed  en- 
thusiasm is  founded  in  reason,  and  supported  by  nature,  and 
carries  the  mind  above  its  ordinary  level,  into  the  unexplored 
regions  of  art  and  science.  The  rational  enthusiast,  indeed, 
rises  to  an  elevation  so  far  above  the  distinct  view  of  vulgar 
eyes,  that  common  understandings  are  apt  to  treat  him  either 
with  blind  admiration,  or  cool  contempt,  only  because  they 
are  incapable  of  comprehending  his  real  character  ;  and  while 
some  bow  to  him  as  an  extraordinary  genius.  The  powers 
of  enthusiasm,  however,  when  founded  upon  proper  principles, 
so  strengthen  and  invigorate  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  as  to 
enable  it  to  resist  danger  undismayed,  and  to  surmount  diffi- 
culties that  appear  irresistible.  Those,  indeed,  who  have 
possessed  themselves  of  this  power  to  any  extraordinary  de- 
gree, have  been  considered  as  inspired,  and  their  great  achieve- 
ments conceived  to  have  been  directed  by  councils,  and  sus- 
tained by  energies  of  a  divine  or  supermundane  nature.  Cer- 
tain it  is,  we  owe  to  the  spirit  of  enthusiasm  whatever  is  great 
in  art,  sublime  in.science,  or  noble  in  the  human  character. 


TBE  YAOTTY  OF  MAK 

What  an  insignificant  being  does  man  appear,  when  he 
compares  himself  with  the  magnificence  of  creation,  and  with 
the  myriads  of  exalted  intelligences  with  w^hich  it  is  peopled ! 
"What  are  all  the  honors  and  splendors  of  this  earthly  ball,  of 
which  mortals  are  so  proud,  when  placed  in  competition  with 
the  resplendent  glories  of  the  sky !  What  is  there  in  the  situa- 
tion of  man  that  should  inspire  him  with  lofty  looks,  and  in- 
duce him  to  look  down  on  his  fellow-men  with  supercilious 
contempt  ?  He  derived  his  origin  from  the  dust,  he  is  allied 
with  the  beasts  that  perish,  and  he  is  fast  hurrying  to  the  grave, 
where  his  body  will  become  the  food  of  noisome  reptiles. 
He  is  every  moment  depending  on  a  superior  Being  for  every 
pulse  that  beats,  and  every  breath  he  draws,  and  for  all  that 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.  203 

he  possesses ;  he  is  dependent  even  on  the  meanest  of  his 
species  for  liis  accommodations  and  comforts.  He  holds  every 
enjoyment  on  the  most  precarious  tenure, — his  friends  may  he 
snatclied  in  a  moment  from  his  embrace  ;  his  riches  may  take 
to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away  ;  and  his  health  and  beauty 
may  be  blasted  in  an  hour,  by  a  breath.  His  knowledge  is  circum- 
scribed within  the  narrowest  limits,  his  errors  and  follies  are 
glaring  and  innumerable,  and  he  stands  as  an  almost  undis- 
tinguisliable  atom  amidst  the  immensity  of  God's  works. 
Still,  with  all  these  powerful  inducements  to  the  exercise  of 
humility,  man  dares  to  be  prond  and  arrogant. 

How  affecting  to  behold  all  ranks,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest,  big  with  an  idea  of  their  own  importance,  and  fired 
with  pride  and  revenge  at  the  least  provocation,  whether 
imaginary  or  real !  How  inconsistent  the  manifestations  of 
such  tempers,  w^itli  the  many  humiliating  circumstances  of  our 
present  condition,  and  with  the  low  rank  which  we  hold  in 
the  scale  of  universal  being. 

PLATO. 

A  grasp  and  a  capacity  of  mind  the  most  astonishing — a 
spirit  inquisitive  and  scrutinizing — subtlety  painfully  acute — a 
comprehensiveness  which  could  embrace  with  equal  ease  the 
smallest  and  most  lofty  knowledge — a  suppleness  which,  with 
almost  incredible  facility,  could  descend  from  the  deepest  ab- 
straction to  the  commonest  topics  of  the  world — a  temper 
which,  in  the  heat  of  disputation,  could  preserve  the  most  per- 
fect self-possession,  and  throw  into  disquisitions,  which  must 
have  been  the  result  of  long  study,  solitude,  and  profound 
meditation,  all  the  graces  of  society  and  the  qualifying  embel- 
lishments of  the  most  perfect  good-breeding — these  are  the 
qualities  which  seem  to  have  been  inherent  in  the  mind  of 
Plato,  and  with  these  he  has  accordingly  endowed  the  person 
whom  he  in  general  selected  for  the  organ  of  conveying  their 
joint  sentiments  to  the  world. 

To  Plato,  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future  seem  alike ; 
he  has  amassed  in  himself  all  the  knowledge  of  the  first,  he 
paints  the  present  to  the  life,  and,  by  some  wonderful  instinct, 


204  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

he  lias  given  dark  hints,  as  if  the  most  important  events  which 
were  to  happen  after  his  time  had  not  been  wholly  hidden 
from  his  sight.  Less  scientific  in  the  arrangement  of  his 
materials  than  his  great  scholar,  he  has  infinitely  more  variety, 
more  spirit,  more  beauty,  evincing,  at  every  step,  that  it  was 
in  his  own  choice  to  become  the  most  profound  of  philoso- 
])hers,  the  most  pointed  of  orators,  or  the  most  sublime  of 
poets,  or,  by  a  skilful  combination  of  all,  to  form  such  a  char- 
acter as  the  world  had  never  yet  seen,  nor  was  ever  after  to 
witness. 

AMUSEMENTS. 

An  inordinate  love  of  amusement  tends  to  degrade  all  the 
powers  of  the  understanding.  It  is  the  eternal  law  of  nature, 
that  truth  and  wisdom  are  the  ofispring  of  labor,  of  vigor,  and 
perseverance  in  every  worthy  object  of  pursuit.  The  eminent 
stations  of  fame,  accordingly,  and  the  distinguished  honors  of 
knowledge,  have,  in  every  age,  been  the  reward  only  of  such 
attainments,  of  that  cherished  elevation  of  mind  which  pursues 
only  magnificent  ends,  and  of  that  heroic  fortitude  which, 
wh.ether  in  action  or  in  speculation,  pursues  them  by  the 
means  of  undeviating  exertion. 

The  mighty  instructor,  experience,  may  show  jou  in  every 
rank  of  life  what  these  effects  are.  It  will  show  you  men 
born  with  every  capacity,  and  whose  first  years  glowed  wi:h 
every  honorable  ambition,  whom  no  vice  even  now  degrades, 
and  to  whom  no  actual  guilt  is  affixed,  who  yet  live  in  the  eye 
of  the  world  only  as  the  objects  of  pity  or  of  scorn — who,  in 
the  idle  career  of  habitual  amusement,  have  dissipated  all  their 
powers  and  lost  all  their  ambition — and  who  exist  now  for  no 
purpose  but  to  be  the  sad  memorials  of  ignoble  taste  and  de- 
graded understanding.  The  great  duties  of  life,  the  duties  for 
which  every  man  is  born,  demand,  in  all  situations,  the  mind 
Ox  labor  and  perseverance. 

We  may  see  around  us  everywhere  the  fatal  effects  of  un- 
restrained pleasure  ;  the  young  sickening  in  the  midst  of  every 
pure  and  genuine  enjoyment;  the  mature  hastening,  with  hope- 
less step,  to  fill  up  the  hours  of  a  vitiated  being. 


SHOET    EXTRACTS.  205 

Think,  with  the  elevation  and  generosity  of  your  age, 
whether  this  is  the  course  that  leads  to  honor  and  fjime ; 
whether  it  was  in  this  discipline  that  they  were  exercised  who, 
in  every  age,  have  blessed  or  enlightened  the  world,  whose 
shades  are  present  to  your  midnight  thoughts — whose  names 
you  cannot  pronounce  without  the  tear  of  gratitude  or  ad- 
miration. 

OIT  THE  PLEASUKE  OF  ACQUIRmG  KNOWLEDGE. 

In  every  period  of  life,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is  one 
of  the  most  pleasing  employments  of  the  human  mind.  But 
in  youth,  there  are  circumstances  which  make  it  productive 
of  higher  enjoyment.  It  is  then  that  everything  has  the  charm 
of  novelty  ;  that  curiosity  and  fancy  are  awake  ;  and  that  the 
heart  swells  with  the  anticipations  of  future  eminence  and 
utility.  Even  in  those  lower  branches  of  instruction  which 
we  call  mere  accomplishments,  there  is  something  always 
pleasing  to  the  young  in  their  acquisition.  They  seem  to  be- 
come every  well-educated  person  ;  they  adorn,  if  they  do  not 
dignify,  humanity ;  and,  what  is  far  more,  while  they  give  an 
elegant  employment  to  the  hours  of  leisure  and  relaxation, 
they  afford  a  means  of  contributing  to  the  purity  and  inno- 
cence of  domestic  life. 

But  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  of  the  higher  kind  in 
the  hours  when  the  young  gradually  begin  the  study  of  the 
laws  of  nature,  and  of  the  faculties  of  the  human  mind,  or  of 
the  magnificent  revelations  of  the  gospel — there  is  a  pleasure 
of  a  sublimer  nature ;  and,  while  they  see,  for  the  first  time 
the  immensity  of  the  universe  of  God,  and  mark  the  majestic 
simplicity  of  those  laws  by  which  its  operations  are  conducted, 
they  feel  as  if  they  were  awakened  to  a  higher  species  of  be- 
ing, and  admitted  into  nearer  intercourse  with  the  Author  of 
Nature. 

To  feel  no  joy  in  such  pursuits,  to  listen  carelessly  to  the 
voice  which  hrings  such  magnificent  instruction,  to  see  the 
veil  raised  which  conceals  the  counsels  of  the  Deity,  and  to 
shov/  no  emotion  at  the  discovery,  are  symptoms  of  a  weak 
and  torpid  spirit— of  a  mind  unworthy  of  the  advantages  it 


206  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

possesses,  and  fitted  only  for  the  humility  of  sensual  and  ig- 
noble pleasure.  Of  those,  on  the  contrary,  who  distinguish 
themselves  by  the  love  of  knowledge,  who  follow  with  ardor 
the  career  that  is  open  to  them,  we  are  apt  to  form  the  most 
honorable  anticipations. 


GREATNESS. 

There  are  different  orders  of  greatness.  Among  these  the 
first  rank  is  unquestionably  due  to  moral  greatness,  or  mag- 
nanimity ;  to  that  sublime  energy  by  which  the  soul,  smitten 
with  the  love  of  virtue,  binds  itself  indissolubly,  for  life  and 
for  death,  to  truth  and  duty;  espouses  as  its  own  the  interests 
of  human  nature ;  scorns  all  meanness  and  defies  all  peril; 
hears  in  its  own  conscience  a  voice  louder  than  threatenings 
and  thunders;  withstands  all  the  powers  of  the  universe, 
which  would  sever  it  from  the  cause  of  freedom,  virtue,  and 
religion ;  reposes  an  unfaltering  trust  in  God  in  the  darkest 
hour,  and  is  ever  "ready  to  be  offered  up  "  on  the  altar  of  its 
country  or  of  mankind. 

Next  to  moral,  comes  intellect uai  greatness,  or  genius  in 
the  highest  sense  of  that  word ;  and  by  this  we  mean  that 
sublime  capacity  of  thought,  through  which  the  soul,  smitten 
with  the  love  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  essays  to  compre- 
hend the  universe,  soars  into  the  heavens,  penetrates  the 
earth,  penetrates  itself,  questions  the  past,  anticipates  the  fu- 
ture, traces  out  the  general  and  all  comprehending  laws  of 
nature,  binds  together  by  innumerable  aflSnities  and  relations 
all  the  objects  of  its  knowledge  ;  and,  not  satisfied  with  what  is 
finite,  frames  to  itself  ideal  excellence,  loveliness  and  grandeur. 
Next  comes  the  greatness  of  action  ;  and  by  this  we  mean  the 
sublime  power  of  conceiving  and  executing  bold  and  extensive 
plans  :  constructing  and  bringing  to  bear  on  a  mighty  object  a 
complicated  machinery  of  means,  energies,  and  arrangements, 
and  accomplishing  great  outward  effects. 


SHOET    EXTRACTS.  207 


SHAKSPEARE'S  SENSIBILITY. 

Shakspeare's  sensibility  is  in  proportion  with  his  other 
gifts.  His  heart  is  as  great  and  as  strong  as  his  mind.  He 
feels  the  beauty  and  the  worth  of  things  as  truly  and  as  deep- 
ly as  he  discerns  their  relations ;  is  alive  to  the  slightest  and 
equal  to  the  strongest  impression.  He  sympathizes,  calmly 
yet  intensely,  with  all  that  he  finds  and  all  that  he  makes  ;  he 
loves  all  things ;  his  soul  gushes  out  in  warm  virgin-like  affec- 
tion over  all  the  objects  of  his  contemplation,  and  embraces 
them  in  its  soft,  heavenly  radiance.  He  discerns  a  soul,  a 
pulse  of  good  even  in  things  that  are  evil ;  knows^  indeed,  that 
nothing  can  exist  utterly  divorced  from  good  of  some  sort : 
that  it  must  have  some  inward  harmony  to  hold  it  in  existence. 
To  this  harmony,  this  innate,  indestructible  v/orth,  his  mind 
is  ever  open.  He  is,  therefore,  a  man  of  universal  benevo- 
lence ;  wishes  well  of  all  things ;  will  do  his  best  to  benefit 
them:  not,  indeed,  by  injuring  others,  but  by  doing  them 
justice ;  by  giving  them  their  due,  be  they  saints  or  be  they 
sinners.  He  is  strictly  and  inexorably  impartial,  and  even 
shows  his  love  of  perfect  justice  by  shedding  the  sunshine  and 
the  rain  of  his  genius  alike  on  the  just  and  on  the  unjust.  For 
his  feelings  are  the  allies,  not  the  rivals,  of  his  other  powers; 
exist  in  sympathy,  not  in  antagonism  with  them,  and  therefore 
never  try  to  force  or  tempt  him  from  his  loyalty  to  truth. 
Many  think  him  deficient  in  moral  sensibility ;  whereas,  in  fact, 
he  shows  the  perfection  of  such  sensibility  in  altogether  pre- 
ferring truth  to  them  both ;  for  there  is  really  nothing  more 
vicious  or  more  vitiating  than,  what  some  people  seem  greatly 
in  love  with,  the  attempting  to  teach  better  morality  than  is 
taught  by  nature  and  Providence. 

THE  GREATNESS  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Great  he  was,  preeminently  great,  whether  we  regard  him 
sustaining  alone  the  whole  weight  of  campaigns  all  but  des- 
perate, or  gloriously  terminating  a  just  warf;ire  by  his  re- 
sources and  his  courage ;  presiding  over  the  jarring  elements 
of  his  political  council,  alike  deaf  to  the  storms  of  all  extremes, 


208  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

or  directing  the  formation  of  a  new  government  for  a  great 
people,  the  first  time  that  so  vast  an  experiment  had  ever 
been  tried  by  man;  or,  finally,  retiring  from  the  supreme 
power  to  which  his  virtue  had  rais'.d  him  over  the  nation  he 
had  created,  and  whose  destinies  he  had  guided  as  long  as  his 
aid  was  required, — retiring  with  the  veneration  of  all  parties, 
of  all  nations,  of  all  mankind,  in  order  that  the  rights  of  men 
might  be  conserved,  and  that  his  example  never  might  bo 
appealed  to  by  vulgar  tyrants. 

This  is  the  consummate  glory  of  Washington ;  a  triumphant 
warrior  where  the  most  sanguine  had  a  right  to  despair  ;  a  suc- 
cessful ruler  in  all  the  difficulties  of  a  course  wholly  untried ; 
but  a  warrior,  whose  sword  only  left  its  sheath  when  the  first 
law  of  our  nature  commanded  it  to  be  drawn ;  and  a  ruler  who, 
having  tasted  of  supreme  power,  gently  and  unostentatiously 
desired  that  the  cup  might  pass  from  hira,  nor  would  suffer 
more  to  wet  his  lips  than  the  most  solemn  and  sacred  duty  to 
his  country  and  his  God  required ! 

To  his  latest  breath  did  this  great  patriot  maintain  the 
noble  character  of  a  captain,  the  patriot  of  peace ;  and  a  states- 
man, the  friend  of  justice. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  INTELLECT. 
Magnificent  indeed,  was  the  material  creation,  when,  Sud- 
denly blazing  forth  in  mid  space,  the  new-born  sun  dispelled  the 
darkness  of  the  ancient  night.  But  infinitely  more  magnificent 
is  it  when  the  human  soul  rays  forth  its  subtler  and  swifter 
beams ;  when  the  light  of  the  senses  irradiates  all  outward 
things,  revealing  the  beauty  of  their  colors,  and  the  exquisite 
symmetry  of  their  proportions  and  forms;  when  the  light  of 
reason  penetrates  to  their  invisible  properties  and  laws,  and 
displays  all  those  hidden  relations  that  make  up  all  the  sciences ; 
when  the  light  of  conscience  illuminates  the  moral  world, 
separating  truth  from  error,  and  virtue  from  vice.  The  light 
of  the  newly-kindled  sun,  indeed  was  glorious.  It  struck  upon 
all  the  planets,  and  waked  into  existence  their  myriad  capaci- 
ties of  life  and  joy.  As  it  rebounded  from  them,  and  showed 
their  vast  orbs  all  wheeling,  circle  beyond  circle,  in  their  stu- 
pendous courses,  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy. 


SHORT    EXTRACTS.  209 

But  the  light  of  the  human  soul  flies  swifter  than  the  liglit 
of  the  sun,  and  outshines  its  meridian  blaze.  It  can  embrace 
not  only  the  sun  of  our  system,  but  all  suns  and  galaxies  of 
suns;  aye!  the  sonl  is  capable  of  knowing  and  of  enjoying 
Him  who  created  the  suns  themselves ;  and  when  these  starry 
lustres  that  now  glorify  the  firmament  shall  wax  dim,  and 
fade  away  like  a  wasted  taper,  the  light  of  the  soul  shall  still 
remain  ;  nor  time,  nor  cloud,  nor  any  power  but  its  own  per- 
versity, shall  ever  quench  its  brightness.  Again  I  w^ould  say, 
that  whenever  a  human  soul  is  born  into  the  world,  God  stands 
over  it  and  pronounces  the  same  sublime  fiat,  "  Let  there  be 
light!"  And  may  the  time  soon  come,  when  all  human 
governments  shall  cooperare  with  the  divine  government  in 
carrying  this  benediction  and  baptism  into  fulfillment. 


MEK  OF  PEINCIPLE. 

Sometimes,  in  unfamiliar  countries,  the  traveller  finds  him- 
self shrouded  in  fog  and  the  way  so  hidden,  the  features  of  the 
country  so  singularly  changed  from  the  reality,  that  he  cannot 
safely  move.  But  if  some  friendly  mountain  side  lets  him  as- 
cend a  few  hundred  feet  above,  he  finds  himself  suddenly  in  a 
clear  atmosphere  with  a  blue  sky  and  a  shining  sun.  Below  him 
the  smaller  objects  that  misled  and  bewildered  him  lie  hidden ; 
before  him  stand  out,  salient  and  clear,  the  leading  ridges  and 
great  outlines  of  the  country  which  point  out  to  him  the  right 
way,  and  show  him  where  he  may  reach  a  place  of  security  and 
repose  for  the  night,  and  he  goes  on  his  journey  confidently. 
And  so  it  is  with  those  men  who  devote  their  lives,  unflinchingly 
and  singly,  to  the  public  good — to  the  maintenance  of  principles 
and  the  advocacy  of  great  reforms.  They  live  in  a  pure  atmos- 
phere. And  such  ought  also  to  be  the  character  of  the  men 
whom  we  elevate  to  our  high  places.  Kaised  into  that  upper 
air,  and  charged  with  the  general  safety,  they  are  expected  to 
be  impersonal;  they  are  expected  to  see  over  and  beyond  the 
personal  ambitions  and  individual  interests  which  of  necessity 
influence  men  acting  individually;  their  horizon  is  universal, 
and  they  see  broadly  defined  the  great  principles  which  lead  a 


210  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

nation  continuously  on  to  a  settled  prosperity  and  a  sure 
glory.  And  as  a  condition  of  our  material  safety  we  should 
see  to  it  that  only  such  men  are  put  in  such  places — men  capa- 
ble of  receiving  a  conviction  and  realizing  a  necessity — men 
able  to  comprehend  the  spirit  of  the  age  and  the  country  in 
which  we  live,  and  fearless  in  working  up  to  it. 


LIMIT  TO  HUMAK  DOMINION 

God  has  given  the  hind  to  man,  hut  the  sea  He  has  reserved 
to  Himse'f.  ''The  sea  is  His,  and  He  made  it."  He  has 
given  man  "  no  inheritance  in  it;  na,  not  so  much  as  to  set  his 
foot  on."  If  he  enters  its  domain,  he  enters  it  as  a  pilgrim  and 
a  stranger.  He  may  pass  over  it,  but  he  can  have  no  abiding 
place  upon  it.  He  cannot  build  his  liouse,  nor  so  much  as  pitch 
his  tent  within  it.  He  cannot  mark  it  with  his  lines,  nor  subdue 
it  to  his  uses,  nor  rear  his  monuments  upon  it.  It  steadfastly 
refuses  to  own  him  as  its  lord  and  master.  Its  depths  do  not 
tremble  at  his  coming.  Its  waters  flee  not  when  he  appeareth. 
A11  the  strength  of  all  his  generations  is  to  it  as  a  feather 
before  the  whirlwind;  and  all  the  noise  of  his  commerce,  and 
all  the  thunder  of  his  navies,  it  can  husli  in  a  moment  within 
tlie  silence  of  its  impenetrable  abysses.  Whole  armies  have  gone 
down  into  that  unfathomable  darkness,  and  not  a  floating  bub- 
ble marks  the  place  of  their  disappearing.  If  all  the  popula- 
tions of  the  world,  from  the  beginning  of  time,  were  cast  into 
its  depths,  the  smooth  surface  of  its  oblivion  would  close  over 
them  in  an  hour ;  and  if  all  the  cities  of  the  earth,  and  all  the 
structures  and  monuments  ever  reared  by  man,  were  heaped 
together  over  that  grave  for  a  tombstone,  it  would  not  breik 
the  surface  of  the  deep,  or  lift  back  their  memory  to  the  light 
of  the  sun  and  the  breatli  of  the  upper  air.  The  sea  would  roll 
its  billows  in  derision,  a  thousand  fathoms  deep,  above  the  top- 
most stone  of  that  mighty  sepulchre.  The  patient  earth  sub- 
mits to  the  rule  of  man,  and  the  mountains  bow  their  rocky 
heads  before  the  hammer  of  his  power  and  the  blast  of 
his  terrible  enginery.  But  God  alone  controls  the  mighty 
sea. 


SHOET    EXTRACTS.  211 

THE  CITY  OF  OUR  LIBERTY. 

But  now  that  our  service  of  commemoration  is  ended,  let 
us  go  hence  and  meditate  on  all  that  it  has  taught  us.  You 
see  how  long  the  holy  and  beautiful  city  of  our  liberty  and  our 
power  has  been  in  building,  and  by  how  many  hands,  and  at 
what  cost.  You  see  the  towering  and  steadfast  height  to 
which  it  has  gone  up,  and  how  its  turrets  and  spires  gleam  in 
the  rising  and  setting  sun.  You  stand  among  the  graves  of 
some — your  townsmen,  your  fathers  by  blood,  whose  names 
you  bear,  whose  portraits  hang  up  in  yonr  homes,  of  whose 
memory  you  are  justly  proud — who  helped  in  their  day  to 
sink  those  walls  deep  in  their  beds,  where  neither  frost  nor 
earthquake  might  heave  them, — to  raise  aloft  those  great 
arches  of  stone, — to  send  up  those  turrets  and  spires  into  the 
sky.  It  was  theirs  to  build;  remember  it  is  yours,  under 
Providence,  to  keep  the  city,  to  keep  it  from  the  sword  of  the 
invader,  to  keep  it  from  licentiousness  and  crime  and  irre- 
ligion,  and  all  that  would  make  it  unsafe  or  unfit  to  live  in, 
to  keep  it  from  the  fires  of  faction,  of  civil  strife,  of  party 
spirit,  that  might  burn  up  in  a  day  the  slow  work  of  a  thousand 
ye!irs  of  glory.  Happy,  if  we  shall  so  perform  our  duty  that 
they  who  centuries  hence  shall  dwell  a'nong  our  graves  may 
be  able  to  remember,  on  some  such  day  as  this,  in  one  common 
service  of  grateful  commemoration,  their  fathers  of  t\\Q first 
and  fUe  second  age  of  America,  those  who  through  martyrdom 
and  tempest  and  battle  sought  liberty,  and  made  her  their 
own,  and  those  whom  neither  ease  nor  luxury,  nor  the  fear  of 
man,  nor  the  worship  of  man,  could  prevail  on  to  barter  her 
away! 

THE  AMBITION^  OF  WEBSTER. 

Mr.  Webster  was  an  ambitious  man.  He  desired  the 
highest  office  in  the  gift  of  the  people.  But  on  this  subject,  as 
on  all  others,  there  was  no  ctmcealment  in  his  nature.  And 
ambition  is  not  a  weakness  unless  it  be  disproportioned  to  the 
capacity.  To  have  more  ambition  than  ability  is  to  be  at  once 
weak  and  unhappy.  With  him  it  was  a  noble  passion,  because 
it  rested  upon  noble  powers.    He  was  a  man  cast  in  a  heroic 


212  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

inould.  His  thoughts,  liis  wishes,  his  passions,  his  aspirations, 
were  all  on  a  grander  scale  than  those  of  other  men.  Unex- 
ercised capacity  is  always  a  source  of  rusting  discontent.  The 
height  to  which  men  may  rise  is  in  proportion  to  the  upward 
force  of  their  genius,  and  they  will  never  he  calm  till  they 
have  attained  their  predestined  elevation.  Lord  Bac(m  says, 
"As  in  nature  things  move  violently  to  their  place  and  calmly 
in  their  place,  so  virtue  in  amhition  is  violent,  in  authority, 
settled  and  calm."  Mr.  Webster  had  a  giant's  brain  and  a 
giant's  heart,  and  he  wanted  a  giant's  work.  He  found  repose 
in  those  strong  conflicts  and  great  duties  which  crush  the 
weak  and  madden  the  sensitive.  He  thought  that,  if  he  were 
elevated  to  the  highest  place,  he  should  so  administer  the  gov- 
ernment as  to  make  the  country  honored  abroad,  and  great 
and  happy  at  home.  He  thought,  too,  that  he  could  do  some- 
thing to  make  us  more  truly  one  people.  This,  above  every- 
thing else,  was  his  ambition.  And  we,  who  know  him  better 
than  others,  felt  that  it  was  a  prophetic  ambition,  and  we 
honored  and  trusted  him  accordingly. 

CALIFORNIA. 

It  is  a  trite  saying,  that  we  live  in  an  age  of  great  events. 
Nothing  can  be  more  true.  But  the  greatest  of  all  events  of 
the  present  age  is  at  hand.  It  needs  not  the  gift  of  prophecy 
to  predict  that  the  course  of  the  world's  trade  is  destined  soon 
to  be  changed.  But  a  few  years  can  elapse  before  the  com- 
merce of  Asia  and  the  islands  of  the  Pacific,  instead  of  pur- 
suing the  ocean  track,  by  way  of  Cape  Horn  or  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  or  even  taking  the  shorter  route  of  the  Isthmus 
of  Darien,  or  the  Isthmus  of  Tehuantepec,  will  enter  the 
Golden  Gate  of  California,  and  deposit  its  riches  in  our  own 
city.  Hence,  on  bars  of  iron,  and  propelled  by  steam,  it  will 
ascend  the  mountains  and  traverse  the  desert;  and  having 
again  reached  the  confines  of  civilization,  will  be  distributed, 
through  a  thousand  channels,  to  every  portion  of  the  Union, 
and  of  Europe.  New  York  will  then  become  what  London 
now  is — the  great  central  point  of  exchange,  the  heart  of  trade, 
the  force  of  whose  contraction  and  expansion  will  be  felt 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.     "  213 

tlirougliout  every  artery  of  the  commercial  world ;  and  San 
Francisco  will  then  stand  the  second  city  of  Ameiica.  Is  this 
Yisionary  ?     Twenty  years  will  determine. 

The  world  is  interested  in  our  success  ;  for  a  fresh  field  is 
opened  to  its  commerce,  and  a  new  avenue  to  the  civilization 
and  progress  of  the  human  race.  Let  us,  then,  endeavor  to 
realize  the  hopes  of  Americans,  and  the  expectations  of  the 
world.  Let  us  not  only  be  united  amongst  ourselves,  for  our 
own  local  welfare,  but  let  us  strive  to  cement  the  common 
bonds  of  brotherhood  of  the  whole  Union.  In  our  relations  to 
the  Federal  Government,  let  us  know  no  South,  no  North,  no 
East,  no  West.  Wherever  American  Liberty  flourishes,  let 
that  be  our  common  country !  Wherever  the  American  ban- 
ner waves,  let  that  be  our  home ! 


THE  CLASSICS. 

He  who  studies  English  literature  without  the  lights  of 
classical  learning,  loses  half  the  charms  of  its  sentimtnts  and 
style,  of  its  force  and  feeling?,  of  its  delicate  touches,  of  its 
delightful  allusions,  of  its  illustrative  a-sociations.  Who  that 
reads  the  poetry  of  Gray,  does  not  feel  that  it  is  the  refinement 
of  classical  taste  which  gives  such  inexpressible  vividness  and 
transparency  to  his  diction?  Who  that  reads  the  concentrated 
sense  and  melodious  versification  of  Dryden  and  Pope,  does 
not  perceive  in  them  the  d'sciples  of  the  old  school,  whose 
genius  was  inflamed  by  the  heroic  verse,  the  terse  satire,  tind 
the  playful  wit  of  antiquity?  Who  that  meditates  over  the 
strains  of  Milton  does  not  feel  that  he  drank  deep  at 

"  Siloa's  brook,  that  flowed 
Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God, " 

that  the  fires  of  liis  magnificent  mind  were  lighted  by  coals 
from  ancient  altars? 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  declare,  that  he  who  proposes  to 
abolish  classical  studies,  proposes  to  render,  in  a  great  measure, 
inert  and  unedifying  the  mass  of  English  literature  for  three 
centuries;  to  rob  us  of  the  glory  of  the  past,  and  much  of  the 
instruction  of  future  ages ;  to  blind  us  to  excellencies  which 


214  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

few  may  hope  to  equal,  and  none  to  surpass;  to  annihilate 
associations  which  are  interwoven  with  our  best  sentiments, 
and  give  to  distant  times  and  countries  a  presence  and  reality, 
as  if  they  were  in  fact  his  own. 


PUBLIC  INSTRUCTION 

I  know  not  what  more  munificent  donation  any  govern- 
ment can  bestow  than  by  providing  instruction  at  the  public 
expense,  not  as  as  a  scheme  of  charity,  but  of  municipal  policy. 
If  a  private  person  deserves  the  applause  of  all  good  men,  who 
fonnds  a  single  hospital  or  college,  how  much  more  are  they 
entitled  to  the  appellation  of  public  benefactors,  who  plant  a 
school  of  letters !  Other  monuments  of  the  art  and  genius  of  man 
may  perish,  but  these,  from  their  very  nature,  seem,  as  far  as 
human  foresight  can  go,  absolutely  immortal.  The  triumphal 
arches  of  other  days  have  fallen  ;  the  sculptured  columns  have 
crumbled  into  dust ;  the  temples  of  taste  and  religion  have  sunk 
into  decay  ;  the  pyramids  themselves  seem  but  mighty  sepul- 
chres hastening  to  the  same  oblivion  to  which  the  dead  they 
cover  have  long  since  passed.  But  here,  every  successive  gen- 
eration becomes  a  living  memorial  of  our  public  instruction, 
and  a  living  example  of  its  excellence.  Never,  never  mny  this 
glorious  institution  be  abandoned  or  betrayed  by  the  weakness 
of  its  friends  or  the  power  of  its  adversaries  !  It  must  forever 
count  in  its  defence  a  majority  of  all  those  who  ought  to  in- 
fluence public  affairs  by  their  virtues  or  their  talenfs  ;  for  it 
must  be  that  here  they  first  felt  the  divinity  of  knowledge  stir 
within  them.  What  consolation  can  be  higher,  what  reflection 
prouder  than  the  thought  that  in  weal  or  woe  our  youth  are 
under  the  public  guardianship,  and  may  here  gather  the  fruits 
of  that  learning  which  ripens  for  eternity! 


TRUE  GLORY. 

Whatever  may  be  the  temporary  applause  of  men,  or  the 
expressions  of  public  opinion,  it  may  be  asserted,  without  fear 
of  contradiction,  that  no  true   and   permanent  fame  can  be 


SHORT    EXTRACTS.  215 

founded,  except  in  labors  which  promote  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind. 

Wolfe,  the  conqueror  of  Quebec,  has  attracted,  perhaps, 
a  larger  share  of  romantic  histury  tlian  any  of  the  gallant  ge- 
nerals in  English  History.  We  behold  him,  yet  young  in  years, 
at  the  head  of  an  adventurous  expedition,  destined  to  prostrate 
the  French  Empire  in  Canada, — guiding  and  encouraging  the 
firmness  of  his  troops  in  unaccustomed  difficulties, — awakening 
their  personal  attachment  by  his  kindly  suavity,  and  their 
ardor  by  his  owa  example, — climbing  the  precipitous  steeps 
wh"ch  conduct  to  the  heights  of  the  strongest  fortress  on  the 
American  continent, — there,  under  its  walls,  joining  in  deadly 
conflict, — wounded, — stretched  upon  the  field, — faint  with  the 
loss  of  blo!)d, — with  sight  already  dimmed, — his  life  ebbing  fast, 
cheered  at  last  by  the  sudden  cry  that  the  enemy  is  fleeing  in 
all  directions, — and  then  his  dying  breath  mingling  with  the 
si  1  outs  of  victory.  An  eminent  artist  has  portrayed  this  scene 
of  death  in  a  much-admired  picture.  Historj^  and  poetry  have 
dwelt  upon  it  with  peculiar  fondness.  Such  is  the  glory  of 
arms !  But  there  is,  happily,  preserved  to  us  a  tradition  of 
this  day,  which  affords  a  gleam  of  a  truer  glory.  As  the  com- 
mander floated  down  the  currents  of  the  St.  Ltiwrence  in  his 
boat,  under  cover  of  the  mght,  in  the  enforced  silence  of  a 
military  expedition,  he  was  heard  to  repeat  to  himself  that  poem 
of  exquisite  cliarms — "Gray's  Elegy,"  and  as  the  ambitious 
warrior  finished  the  recitation,  he  said  to  his  companions,  in  a 
low  but  earnest  tone,  that  he  "  would  rather  be  the  author  of 
that  poem  than  take  Quebec."  And  surely  he  was  right.  The 
glory  of  that  victory  is  already  dying  out,  like  a  candle  in  its 
socket.  The  true  glory  of  the  poem  still  remains  with  star- 
bright,  immortal  beauty. 

PEESEYERANOE. 

The  greatest  is  he  who  toils  out  his  glorious  sch3m.es  with 
invincible  resolution,  who  resists  the  sorest  temptations,  who 
bears  the  heaviest  disappointments  ;  who  is  fearless  under 
menace  and  frown. 

We  can  fix  our  eyes  on  perfection,  and  make  almost  every- 


216  VOICE    A^D   ACTION. 

thing  speed  us  towards  it.  It  matters  not  what  and  where  we 
are  now,  but  there  is  more  of  a  divinity  than  in  the  force 
which  impels  the  outward  universe.  How  it  shimbers  in  most 
men  unperceived,  unsur^pected !  The  thought  to  unfold  all  our 
powers  and  capacities,  noblj,  vigorously. 

We  are  to  start  witli  the  conviction  that  there  is  something 
greater  within  us  than  in  the  whole  material  creation,  than  in 
all  the  worlds  that  press  on  the  eye  and  ear. 

We  cannot  only  trace  our  powers,  but  guide  them  and  impel 
them.  A  vigorous  purpose  makes  much  out  of  little,  breathes 
power  into  weakness,  disarms  difficulties,  and  even  turns  them 
into  assistants.  A  true  faith,  looking  up  to  something  better, 
catching  glimpses  of  a  distant  future  perfection,  prophesying  to 
ourselves  a  greatness,  gives  energy  of  purpose,  gives  wings  to 
the  soul,  and  this  faith  will  continually  grow  and  increase.  Set 
your  standard  of  knowledge  high  ;  attempt  great  things,  expect 
great  things,  and  you  will  accomplish  great  things. 

BONAPARTE. 

One  unacquainted  with  human  nature  would  think  an  empire 
whose  bounds  extended  to  the  Rhine,  might  have  satisfied  even 
an  ambitious  man.  But  Bonaparte  obeyed  that  law  of  progress 
to  which  the  highest  minds  are  peculiarly  subjected  and  acquisi- 
tion inflamed,  instead  of  appeasing  the  spirit  of  dominion.  He 
had  long  proposed  to  himself  the  conquest  of  Europe,  of  the 
world;  and  the  title  of  Emperor  added  inteni^eness  to  this  pur- 
pose. Did  we  not  fear  that  by  repetition  we  might  impair  the 
conviction  which  we  are  most  anxious  to  impi-ess,  we  would 
enlarge  on  the  enormity  of  the  guilt  involved  in  the  project  of 
universal  empire.  Napoleon  knew  distinctly  the  price  wliich  he 
must  pay  for  the  eminence  which  he  coveted.  He  knew  that  the 
path  to  it  lay  over  wounded  and  slaughtered  millions,  over  pu- 
trefying heaps  of  his  fellow-creatures,  over  ravaged  fields', 
smoking  ruins,  pillaged  cities.  He  knew  that  his  steps  would 
be  followed  by  the  groans  of  widowed  mothers  and  famished 
orphans  ;  of  bereaved  friendship  and  despairing  love,  and  that, 
in  addition  to  this  amount  of  mip-ery,  he  would  create  an  equal 
amount  of  crime,  '  y  multiplying  indefinitely  the   instruments 


SHOKT   EXTRACTS.  217 

and  participators  of  his  rapine  and  fraud.     He  knew  the  price 
and  resolved  to  pay  it. 

SELF  CULTURE. 

Every  man  in  every  condition  is  great.  It  is  only  our  dis- 
eased sight  which  makes  him  little.  A  man  is  great,  as  a  man, 
be  he  where,  or  what  lie  may.  The  grandeur  of  his  nature 
turns  to  insignificance  all  outward  d!Stincrion>'.  It  is  the  image 
of  God,  the  image  even  of  his  infinity,  for  no  limits  can  be  set 
to  its  unfolding.  He  who  possesses  the  divine  powers  of  the 
soul  is  a  great  being,  be  his  ])Iace  what  it  may. 

Real  greatness  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  man's  sphere.  It 
does  not  lie  in  the  magnitude  of  his  outward  agency,  in  the  ex- 
tent of  the  effects  which  he  produi-es.  Grandeur  of  character 
lies  wholly  in  force  of  soul, — that  is,  in  the  force  of  thought, 
moral  princi[>les  and  love  ;  and  this  may  be  found  in  the  hum- 
blest condition  of  life.  It  is  force  of  thought  which  measures 
intellectual,  and  so  it  is  force  of  principle  which  measures  moral 
greatness — that  highest  of  human  endowments,  that  brightest 
manifestati  )n  of  the  Divinity.  I  believe  this  greatness  to  be 
most  common  among  the  multitude,  whose  names  are  never 
heard.  Among  common  people  will  be  found  mure  of  hardships 
borne  manfully,  more  of  unvarnished  truth,  more  of  religious 
trust,  more  of  that  generosity  which  gives  what  the  giver  needs 
himself,  and  more  of  a  wise  estimate  of  life  and  death,  than 
nmong  the  prosperous. 

HEROISM. 

Courage  in  one  thing  does  not  mean  courage  in  everything. 
A  man  who  will  face  a  bullet  will  not  face  an  audience.  Hero- 
ism is  the  origin ality  of  action. 

A  cool,  easy  confidence  is  the  source  of  daring.  "  Trust 
yourself :  every  heart  vibrates  to  that  iron  string."  Men  of 
all  conditions  do  grow  and  die  in  obscurity,  who,  in  suitable  cir- 
cumstances, might  have  attained  to  the  temple  which  shines  afar. 
The  hearts  of  Roman  mothers  beat  an  unnoted  lifetime  in  dim 
parlor-.  Souls  qf  fire  miss  their  hour  and  languish  into  ashes. 
10 


218  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

"Who  is  there  that  has  not  thought,  over  and  over  again,  what 
else  he  could  have  done,  what  else  he  could  have  been  ?  Vani- 
ty, indeed,  may  dupe  us  here,  and  self-tenderness  be  too  ready 
to  look  upon  the  misspending  of  years  as  anything  but  our  own 
fault.  Ee.L'ard  for  a  moment  the  manner  in  which  a  vast  pro- 
portion of  those  who,  from  independency  of  fortune,  and  from 
their  education,  are  able  to  do  most  good  in  the  world,  spend 
their  time,  and  say  if  there  be  not  an  immense  proportion  of 
the  capability  of  mankind  undeveloped.  Many  struggle  for  a 
while  against  the  represive  influences  of  opinion  and  society, 
but  at  length  yield  to  the  powerful  temptations,  to  nonentity. 
The  social  despotism  presents  the  fetes  with  which  it  seeks  to 
solace  and  beguile  its  victims  ;  and  he  who  began  to  put  on  his 
armor  for  the  righting  of  many  wrongs,  is  soon  content  to  smile 
with  those  who  smile.  Thus  daily  do  generations  ripe  and  rot 
in  life  unemployed,  the  great  mission  unperformed. 

MORAL  TASTE. 

To  the  man  whose  taste  has  been  formed  on  just  principles, 
and  who  has  been  led  to  perceive  and  relish  what  is  truly 
beautiful,  a  new  world  is  open  >d.  He  looks  abroad  over  na- 
ture and  contempla'es  the  productions  of  art,  with  sentiments 
to  which  those  who  are  destitute  of  this  faculty  are  strangers. 
He  perceives  in  the  works  of  Grod,  and  in  the  contrivances  of 
man,  all  the  utility  for  w^hich  they  were  destined  and  adapted 
in  common  with  others ;  but  besides  this,  his  heart  is  filled 
with  sentiments  of  the  beautiful  or  the  grand,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  object.  It  is  in  literature  that  taste,  in  the  more 
common  use  of  the  word,  has  its  most  extensive  sphere,  and 
most  varied  gratifications  ;  yet,  whether  it  bo  exercised  on  na- 
ture, the  fine  arts,  or  literature,  w^e  are  aware  how  much  de- 
pends on  associations  with  life,  feeling,  and  human  character. 
Why  does  the  traveller  wander  with  such  peculiar  interest 
over  the  mountaius  and  plains  of  Italy  and  Greece,  but  because 
every  spot  is  consecrated  by  the  memory  of  great  events,  or 
presents  to  him  the  memorials  of  departed  genius?  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  poetry  peoples  even  solitude  and  desolation 
with  imaginary  life  ;  so  that  in  ancient  days,  every  forest  had 


SHOET   EXTRACTS.  219 

its  dryads,  every  fountain  its  nymphs,  and  the  voice  of  the 
naiads  was  heard  in  the  nnirmuring  of  the  streams.  It  is  part- 
ly in  reference  to  the  same  principle  that  deserts  and  moun< 
tains,  where  all  is  barrenness  and  solitude,  raise  in  the  mind 
emotions  of  subhmity.  It  is  a  feeling  of  vastness  and  desola- 
tion that  depends  in  a  great  degree  on  the  absence  of  every- 
thing having  life  or  action.  The  mere  modifications  of  nature 
are  beautiful,  the  human  form  from  its  just  proportions,  the 
human  face  from  the  harmonious  combination  of  features  and 
coloring ;  but  it  is  only  when  this  form  is  living  and  moving, 
and  when  this  face  is  suffused  with  emotion  and  animated 
with  intelligence,  when  the  attitude  and  the  look  alike  express 
the  workings  of  the  heart  and  mind,  that  we  feel  the  perfect 
sentiment  of  beauty. 

SKETCH  OF  WEBSTER. 

Earnestness,  solidity  of  judgment,  elevation  of  sentiment, 
broad  and  generou=»  views  of  national  policy,  and  a  massive 
strength  of  expression,  characterize  all  his  works.  "We  feel, 
in  reading  them,  that  he  is  a  man  of  principles,  not  a  man  of 
expedients ;  that  he  never  adopts  opinions  without  subjecting 
them  to  stern  tests ;  and  that  he  recedes  from  them  only  at  the 
bidding  of  reason  and  experience.  HeneVer  seems  to  be  play- 
ing a  part,  but  always  acting  a  life. 

The  ponderous  strength  of  his  powers  strikes  us  not 
more  forcibly  than  the  broad  individuality  of  the  man.  Were 
we  unacquainted  with  the  history  of  his  life,  we  could  almost 
infer  it  from  his  works.  Everything,  in  his  productions,  indi- 
cates the  character  of  a  person  who  has  struggled  fiercely 
against  obstacles,  who  has  develojied  his  faculties  by  strenuous 
labor,  who  has  been  a  keen  and  active  observer  of  man  and 
nature,  and  who  has  been  disciplined  in  the  affairs  of  the 
world.  There  is  a  manly  simplicity  and  clearness  in  his  mind, 
and  a  rugged  energy  in  his  feelings,  which  preserve  him  from 
all  the  affectations  of  literature  and  society. 

He  is  great  by  original  constitution.  What  nature  origi- 
nally gave  to  him,  nature  has  to  some  extent  developed, 
strengthened,  and  stamped  with  her  own  signature.     We  never 


220  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

consider  him  as  a  mere  debater,  a  mere   scholar,  or  a  mere 
statesman ;  but  as  a  strcng,  sturdy,  earnest  man. 

NATIONAL  ALLEGIANCE. 

Every  individual  of  every  nation,  barbarian  or  civilized,  is 
bound  by  allegiance  to  the  supreme  authority  which  presides 
over  that  nation,  whether  it  be  king,  emperor,  grand  duke, 
sultnn,  or  constitutional  republican  government.  Society  with- 
out allegiance  is  anarchy ;  government  without  allegiance  is 
a  mockery;  pc-ople  without  allegiance  are  a  mob. 

Allegiance  in  its  proper  sense,  can  be  exacted  only  by  the 
supreme  power^  which,  in  this  land,  is  the  Government  created 
by  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  This  allegiance  may 
not  be  put  on  and  off,  to  suit  the  convenience  and  whims  of 
the  individual,  as  he  may  assume  or  cast  off  State  citizenship. 
Once  due,  it  is  always  due,  unless  the  national  Government 
consent  to  its  renunciation.  The  native-born  citizen  owes  it, 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave;  the  naturalized  foreigner,  from 
the  moment  he  acquires  citizenship  till  his  death.  No  such 
obligation  exi>ts  towards  a  State.  A  State's  power  over  any 
citizen  begins  on^y  with  his  entrance  upon  her  territory,  and 
ends  with  his  deparlure  from  it.  The  United  States  have  an 
undoubted  and  indestructible  right  to  call  forth  their  citizens 
from  every  spot  of  their  domain,  to  defend  and  uphold  in  bat- 
tle the  honor  and  power  of  the  nation  ;  for  no  citizen  can  find 
a  place  where  the  title  of  allegiance  does  not  bind  him  to  the 
Constitution  and  flag  of  his  country. 

The  citizen  owes  allegiance  in  return  for  protection  by  his 
government,  and  that  protection  is  his  lawful  right,  wherever 
in  the  world  he  may  be.  It  was  the  certainty  and  swiftness 
of  Rome's  vindication  of  the  rights  of  her  citizens,  that  gave 
such  power  everywhere  to  the  simple  words,  ^^  I  am  a  Boman 
citizen;''''  and  this  hour,  among  all  civilized  nations,  to  be 
known  as  an  American  citizen,  is  a  passport  and  protection. 
"Why  ?  Because  the  United  States  are  known  throughout  the 
world,  as  able  and  ready  to  protect  their  citizens.  But  on 
another  continent  than  this,  wiiat  would  it  avail  to  be  known 
as  a  citizen  of  any  State  of  the  Union  ?     Who,  in  a  foreign 


SHOET    EXTEACTS.  221 

land,  would,  in  extremity,  proclaim  himself  a  citizen  of  one  of 
the  States,  when  his  State  has  no  power  to  protect  him  or  to 
avenge  his  wrongs,  except  through  the  Government  of  the 
Union  ? 

DUTY  OF  LITERARY  MEN  TO  THEIR  COUNTRY. 

We  cannot  honor  our  country  with  too  deep  a  reverence ; 
we  cannot  love  her  with  an  affection  too  pure  and  fervent; 
we  cannot  serve  her  with  an  energy  of  purpose  or  a  faithfulness 
of  zeal  too  steadfast  and  ardent.  And  what  is  our  country? 
It  is  not  the  East  with  her  hills  and  her  valleys,  with  her 
countless  sails  and  the  rocky  ramp.irts  of  her  shores.  It  is 
not  the  Nortl),  with  her  thousand  villages,  and  her  harvest- 
home,  with  her  frontiers  of  the  lake  and  the  ocean.  It  is  not 
the  West,  with  her  forest-sea  and  her  inland-isles,  with  her 
luxuriant  expanses,  clothed  in  the  verdant  corn,  with  her 
beautiful  Ohio  and  her  majestic  Missouri.  Nor  is  it  yet  the 
South,  opulent  in  the  mimic  snow  of  the  cotton,  in  the  rich 
plantations  of  the  rustling  cane,  and  in  the  golden  i-obes  of  the 
rice-field.  What  are  these  hut  the  sister  families  of  one  greater^ 
letter,  holier^  family^ — oue  country?  We  cannot  tliink  too 
highly  of  that  country,  or  sacrifice  too  much  for  her.  And 
let  us  never  forget, — let  us  rather  renieniber  with  a  religious 
awe, — that  the  union  of  these  States  is  indispensable  to  our 
Literature^  as  it  is  to  our  national  independence  and  civil 
liberties, — to  our  prosperity,  happiness,  and  improvement. 

American  Literature    will  find    that   the  mTELi.EOTiJAL 

SPIEIT  IS  HER  VERY  TREE  OF  LIFE,  AND  THE  UnIOIT  HER  GAR- 
DEN OF  Paradise. 

MORALITY,  THE  FOU  NIDATION  OF  NATIONAL 
GREATNESS. 

When  we  look  forward  to  the  probable  growth  of  this 
country  ;  when  we  think  of  the  millions  of  human  beings  who 
are  to  spread  over  our  present  territory  ;  of  the  career  of  im- 
provement and  glory  open  to  this  new  people  ;  of  the  impulse 
which  free  institutions,  if  j)rosperous,  may  be  expected  to  give 


222  VOICE    AXD   ACTIOK. 

to  philosophy,  religion,  science,  literature  and  arts;  of  tlie  vast 
field  in  v^hich  the  experiment  is  to  be  made,  of  what  the  unfet- 
tered powers  of  man  may  achieve  ;  of  the  bright  page  of  his- 
tory which  our  fathers  have  fiPed,  and  of  the  advantages  under 
which  their  toils  and  virtues  have  placed  us  for  carrying  on 
their  work ;— when  we  think  of  all  this,  can  we  help,  for  a 
moment,  surrendering  ourselves  to  bright  visions  of  our  coun- 
try's glory,  before  which  all  the  glories  of  the  past  are  to  fade 
away  ? 

Is  it  presumption  to  say,  that,  if  just  to  ourselves  and  all 
nations,  we  shall  be  felt  through  this  whole  continent,  that  we 
shall  spread  our  language,  institutions,  and  civilizntion,  through 
a  wider  space  than  any  nation  has  yet  filled  with  a  like  benefi- 
cent influence?  And  are  we  pi-epared  to  barter  these  hopes, 
this  sublime  moral  empire,  for  conquests  by  force  ?  Are  we 
prepared  to  sink  to  the  level  of  unprincipled  nations,  to  content 
ourselves  with  a  vulgar,  guilty  greatness,  to  adopt  in  our  youth 
maxims  and  ends  which  must  brand  our  future  with  sordidness, 
oppression,  and  shame  ?  This  country  cannot,  without  peculiar 
infamy,  run  the  common  race  of  national  rapacity.  Our  origin, 
institutions,  and  position  are  peculiar,  and  all  favor  an  upright, 
honorable  course. 

THE  WISE  AND  GOOD. 

The  relations  between  man  and  man  cease  not  with  life. 
The  dead  leave  behind  them  their  memory,  their  example,  and 
the  effects  of  their  actions.  Their  influence  still  abides  with 
us.  Their  names  and  characters  dwell  in  thoughts  and  hearts. 
We  enjoy  the  benefits  of  their  labors.  Our  institutions  have 
been  founded  by  them.  Our  knowledge  and  our  arts  are  the 
fruits  of  their  toil.  We  are  most  intimately  connected  with 
theni  by  a  thousand  dependencies. 

Creatures  of  imitation  and  sympathy  as  we  are,  we  look 
around  us  for  support  and  countenance  even  in  our  virtues. 
We  recur  for  them,  most  securely,  to  the  examples  of  the  dead. 
There  is  a  degree  of  insecurity  and  uncertainty  about  living 
worth.  The  stamp  has  not  been  put  upon  it  which  precludes 
all  change,   and  seals  it  up  as  a  just  object  of  admiration 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.  223 

for  future  times.  There  is  no  service  which  a  man  of  com- 
manding intellect  can  render  his  fellow-creatures  better  than 
that  of  leaving  behind  him  an  unspotted  example.'  If  be  do 
not  confer  upon  them  this  benefit;  if  he  have  a  character  dark 
with  vices  but  dazzling  with  shining  qualities,  it  may  be  that 
all  his  other  services  had  better  have  been  forborne,  and  he 
had  pnssed  inactive  and  unnoticed  through  life.  It  is  a  dictate 
of  wisdom,  therefore,  hs  well  as  feeling,  wht-n  a  man  eminent 
for  his  talents  has  been  taken  away,  to  collect  the  riches  of 
his  goodness  and  add  them  to  the  treasury  of  human  improve- 
ment. 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN". 

It  is  natural  to  believe  in  great  men.  If  the  companions 
of  our  childhood  should  turn  out  to  be  heroes,  and  their  con- 
dition regal,  it  would  not  surprise  us. 

Nature  seems  to  exi-t  for  the  excellent.  The  world  is  up- 
held by  the  veracity  of  good  men;  they  make  the  earth  whole- 
some. Life  is  sweet  and  tolerable  only  in  our  belief  in  such 
society,  and  actually,  or  ideally,  we  manage  to  live  with 
superiors. 

The  search  after  the  great  is  the  dream  of  youth,  and  the 
most  serious  occupation  of  manhood. 

Life  is  a  scale  of  degrees.  Between  rank  and  rank  of  great 
men  are  wide  intervals.  Mankind  have,  in  all  ages,  attached 
themselves  to  a  few  persons,  who^  either  by  the  quality  of  that 
idea  they  embodied,  or  by  the  largeness  of  their  reception, 
were  entitled  to  the  position  of  leaders  and  law  givers.  These 
teach  us  the  qualities  of  primary  nature, — admit  us  to  the  con- 
stitution of  things.  These  men  correct  the  delirium  of  the 
animal  spirits,  make  us  considerate,  and  engage  us. to  new  aims 
and  powers.  The  veneration  of  mankind  selects  these  for  the 
highest  place.  "Witness  the  multitude  of  statues,  pictures  and 
memorials  which  recall  their  genius  in  every  city,  village  and 
house.  Happy  if  a  few  names  remain  so  high,  that  we  have 
not  been  able  to  read  them  nearer,  and  age  and  comparison 
have  n  't  robbed  them  of  a  ray.    But,  at  last,  we  shall  cease  to 


224  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

look  in  men  for  completeness,  and  shall  content  ourselves  vtith 
their  social  and  delegated  quality. 

WRITERS. 

Nature  will  be  reported.  All  things  are  engaged  in  writing 
their  history.  The  planet,  the  pebble  goes  attended  by  its 
shadow.  The  rolling  rock  leaves  its  scratches  on  the  moun- 
tain; the  river  its  channel  in  the  soil;  the  animal  its  bones  in 
the  stratum;  the  f  rn  and  leaf,  their  modest  epitaph  in  the 
coal.  The  falling  drop  makes  its  sculpture  in  the  sand  or  the 
stone.  Not  a  foot  steps  in  the  snow  or  along  the  ground,  but 
prints  in  characters  more  or  less  lasting,  a  map  of  its  march. 
Every  act  of  man  inscribes  itself  in  the  memories  of  its  fellows, 
and  in  his  own  manners  and  face.  Tlie  air  is  full  of  sounds  ; 
tlie  sky,  of  tokens;  the  ground  is  all  memoranda  and  signatures  ; 
and  every  object  covered  over  with  hints,  which  speak  to  tiie 
intelliger.t. 

In  nature  this  self  registration  is  incessant,  and  the  narra- 
tive is  the  print  of  the  seal.  It  nei'her  exceeds  nor  comes 
short  of  the  fact.  But  nature  strives  upward,  and,  in  man,  the 
report  is  something  more  than  print  of  the  seal.  It  is  a  new 
and  finer  form  of  the  original.  The  record  is  alive,  as  that 
which  is  recorded  is  alive.  In  man,  the  memory  is  a  kind  of 
looking-glass,  which,  having  received  the  images  of  surround- 
ing objects,  is  touched  with  life,  and  disposes  them  in  a  new 
order.     Man  loves  to  communicate.     Men  were  born  to  write. 

Society  has  no  graver  interest  than  the  well-being  of  the 
literary  class.  And  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  men  are  cordial 
in  their  recognition  and  welcome  of  intellectual  accomplish- 
ments. 

The  world  is  young;  the  former  great  men  call  to  us 
affectionately.  The  secret  of  genius  is  to  suffer  no  fiction  to 
exist  for  us ;  to  realize  all  that  we  know  ;  in  the  high  refine- 
ment of  modern  life,  in  arts,  in  sciences,  in  books,  in  men,  to 
exact  good  faith,  reality,  and  a  purpose ;  and  first,  last,  midst, 
and  without  end,  to  honor  every  truth  by  use. 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.  225 

ORATORS. 

Oratory  does  not  imfnld  all  its  powers,  in  the  midst  of 
peace  and  general  prosperity.  Great  questions  must  agitate 
men's  minds;  deep  passions  must  be  awakened;  vast  expecta- 
tions excited.  It  was  so  with  the  two  great  orators  of 
antiquity.  They  did  not  live  in  the  palmy  state  of  their 
respective  repuhlics.  Liberty  was  about  to  make  her  last 
s" niggle,  and  these  men  appeared  as  hei*  chosen  champions. 
They  triumphed  in  her  triumphs.  Their  most  heroic  efforts 
were  ma<le  to  avert  her  fall,  and  their  sublimest  strains  poured 
out  at  her  bier.  They  lived  with  the  daily  consoiousnc^ss  that 
on  their  single  arm  hung  interests,  often  too  mighty  for  com- 
putation. Tlie  same  Providence,  which  raised  them  up  to 
give  the  world  assurance  of  the  power  and  perfection  of 
oratory,  poured  into  their  hearts  the  fire,  the  enthusiasm,  the 
unyielding  devotion  to  their  purpose  which  compels  success. 
Liberty  tliey  might  not  save,  but  they  could  immortalize  her 
ruin.  The  resistless  progress  of  an  invader  or  a  tyrant  they 
might  not  be  able  to  stay ;  but  they  could  mingle  the  wither- 
ing and  undying  flames  of  their  eloquence  even  with  his 
triumphs,  and  thus  consign  him,  at  the  very  moment  of  his 
proudest  success,  scatlied  and  blackened,  to  the  scorn  and 
execration  of  mankind. 

We  meet  with  no  modern  orators  who  seem  contented 
with  nothing  short  of  perfection ;  who  shrink  fr(»m  no  toil; 
and  who  at  length,  after  incredible  pains,  have  succeeded  in 
enshrining  their  conceptions  in  forms  so  exquisite,  that  criti- 
cism is  disarmed,  and  universal  admiration  is  compelled. 

LAFAYETTE. 

There  are  few  men  whose  history  partakes  so  largely  of  the 
spirit  of  romance  and  chivalry  as  that  of  Lafayette.  At  the 
age  of  nineteen  years  he  left  his  country  and  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  American  colonies.  His  motive  for  this  conduct 
must  have  been  one  of  the  noblest  that  ever  actuated  the  heart 
of  man.  He  was  in  pos-^ession  of  large  estates,  allied  to  tiie 
highest  orders  of  French  nobility,  surrounded  by  friends  and 
10* 


226  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

relatives,  with  prospects  of  future  distinction  and  favor  as  fair 
as  ever  opened  to  the  ardent  view  of  aspiring  ambitious  youth. 
Yet  he  left  his  friends,  his  country,  his  prospects  of  distinction, 
to  assist  a  nation  in  its  struggle  for  freedom,  and  at  a  time  too, 
when  the  prospects  of  that  country's  success  were  dark,  dis- 
heartening, and  almost  hopeless.  He  fought  for  tliat  country, 
he  fed  and  clothed  her  armies,  he  imparted  of  his  wealth  to 
her  poor.  He  saw  her  purposes  accomplished,  and  her  govern- 
ment established  on  the  principles  of  liberty.  He  refused  all 
compensation  for  his  services.  He  returned  to  his  native  land, 
and  engaged  in  contests  for  liberty  there.  He  was  imprisoned 
by  a  foreign  government,  suffered  every  indignity  and  every 
cruelty  that  could  be  inflicted,  and  lived,  after  his  release, 
almost  an  exile,  on  the  spot  where  he  was  born.  More  than 
forty  years  after  he  first  embarked  in  the  cause  of  American 
liberty  he  returned  to  see  once  more  his  few  surviving  com- 
panions in  arms,  and  was  met  by  the  grateful  salutations  of 
,the  whole  nation.  It  is  not  possible  to  reflect  on  these  facts 
without  feeling  our  admiration  excited  to  a  degree  that  almost 
borders  on  reverence. 

WASHINGTON 

Homer  rose  in  the  dawn  of  Greek  culture,  Virgil  flourished 
in  the  court  of  Augustus,  Dante  ushered  in  the  birth  of  the  new 
European  civilization,  Copernicus  was  reared  in  a  Polish 
cloister,  Shakespeare  was  trained  in  the  green  room  of  the 
theatre,Milton  was  formed  while  the  elements  of  English  thought 
and  life  were  fermenting  towards  a  great  political  and  moral 
revolution.  Newton  under  the  profligacy  of  the  rest  )ration.  Ages 
may  elapse  before  any  country  will  produce  a  man  like  these,  as 
two  centuries  have  passed  since  the  last  mentioned  of  them  were 
born.  But  if  it  is  really  a  matter  of  reproach  to  the  United 
State?,  that  in  the  comparatively  short  period  of  their  existence 
as  a  people,  they  have  not  added  anotlier  name  to  the  illus- 
trious list  (which  is  equally  true  of  all  the  other  nations  of 
the  earth,)  they  may  proudly  boast  of  one  example  of  life  and 
character,  one  career  of  disinterested  service,  one  model  of 
public  virtue,  the  type  of  human  excellence,  of  which  all  the 


SHOET    EXTRACTS.  "  227 

countries  and  all  the  ages  may  be  searclied  in  vain  for  the 
parallel.  I  need  not — on  this  day  I  need  not — speak  the 
peerless  name.  It  is  stamped  on  your  hearts,  it  glistens  in 
your  eyes,  it  is  written  on  every  page  of  your  history,  on  the 
battle-fields  of  the  Revolution,  on  the  monuments  of  your 
fathers,  on  the  portals  of  your  Capitols.  It  is  heard  in  every 
breeze  that  whispers  over  the  fields  of  indepenr^ent  America. 
And  he  was  all  our  own.  He  grew  upon  the  soil  of  America; 
he  was  nurtured  at  her  bosom.  She  loved  and  trusted  him  in 
his  youth ;  she  honored  and  revered  him  in  his  age ;  and  though 
she  did  not  wait  for  death  to  canonize  his  name,  his  precious 
memory,  with  each  succeeding  year,  has  sunk  more  deeply 
into  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen. 


HOME  AND  SCHOOL  INFLUENCE  ESPECIALLY  NEC- 
ESSARY IN  TIME  OF  WAR. 


The  grand  march  of  humanity  stops  not  in  its  course  even 
for  war.  From  the  cradle  to  the  coffin,  the  crowding  columns 
move  on  with  lock-step  through  the  successive  stages  of  life. 
Childhood  cannot  halt  in  its  progress  for  returning  peace  to 
afford  leisure  for  education.  On  into  the  years — to  manhood, 
to  citizenship,  to  destiny — it  rushes,  whether  learning  lights 
its  path  and  guides  its  steps,  or  ignorance  involves  it  in  error 
and  conducts  it  headlong  into  vice.  And  if  in  peace  the 
school  is  needful  to  rear  our  children  to  an  intelligent  and 
virtuous  manhood,  how  much  greater  the  need  when  war, 
with  its  inseparable  barbarism,  is  drifting  the  nation  from  its 
onward  course  of  peaceful  civilization,  back  to  the  old  realms 
of  darkness  and  brute  force. 

High  and  heroic  aims  mitigate  the  evils  which  necessarily 
attend  an  appeal  to  arms.  To  say  nothing  of  the  physical 
health  and  prowess  that  camp  life  and  military  discipline 
'  develops,  the  love  of  country  and  love  of  liberty  rise  again 
from  mere  holiday  sentiments  to  the  grnndeur  and  power  of 
national  passions,  and  the  Union,  made  doubly  precious  by  the 
blood  vihicii  its  maintenance  may  cost,  attains  a  strength  that 


228  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

110  mortal  force  can  shake  or  destroy.  History  grows  heroic 
again,  and  humanity  itself  is  iiis[dred  and  glorified  with  fresh 
vindication  of  its  God-given  rights  and  duties,  in  a  new  incar- 
nation and  triumph  of  the  principles  of  Constitutional  and 
Eepublican  liberty. 

But  with  all  this,  the  barbarisms  of  war  are  too  palpable 
and  terrific  to  be  forgotten  or  disregarded,  and  the  wise  and 
patriotic  statesman  will  find  in  them  a  more  urgent  re:ison  for 
fostering  those  civilizing  agencies  which  nourish  the  growing 
intelligence  and  virtue  of  the  people.  Against  the  ideas  and 
vices  engendered  in  the  camps,  and  amidst  the  battle-fields, 
must  be  raised  still  higher  the  bulwarks  of  virtuous  habits  and 
beliefs,  in  the  children  yet  at  home.  We  need  the  utmost 
stretch  of  home  and  school  influence  to  save  society  and  tlie 
state  from  the  terrible  dominations  of  military  ideas  and 
mihtary  forces,  always  so  dangerous  to  civil  liberty  and  free 
government. 

THE  PROBLEM  EOR  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

The  Union  cannot  expire  as  the  snow  melts  from  the  rock, 
or  a  star  disappears  from  the  firmament.  When  it  fjills  the 
crash  will  be  heard  in  all  lands.  Wherever  the  winds  of 
heaven  go,  that  will  go,  bearing  sorrow  and  dismay  to  mil- 
lions of  btriken  hearts  ;  for  the  subversion  of  this  Government 
will  render  the  cause  of  constitutional  liberty  hopeless  through- 
out the  world.  What  nation  can  govern  itself,  if  this  nation 
cannot  ?  What  encouragement  will  any  people  have  to  estab- 
lish liberal  institutions  for  themselves,  if  ours  fail?  Provi- 
dence has  laid  upon  us  the  responsibility  and  the  honor  of 
solving  that  problem  in  which  all  coming  generations  of  men 
have  a  profound  interest — whether  the  trae  ends  of  govern- 
ment can  be  secured  by  a  popular  representative  svstcm. 
Never  before  w^as  a  people  so  advantageously  situated  for 
working  out  this  great  problem  in  favor  of  human  liberty; 
and  it  is  important  for  us  to  understand  that  the  w^orld  so  re- 
gards it. 

H,  in  the  frenzy  of  our  ba?e  sectional  jealousies,  we  dig 
the  grave  of  the  Union,  and   thus  decide  this  question  in  the 


SHOUT    EXTRACTS.  229 

negative,  no  tongue  may  attempt  to  d.e[>ict  the  disappointment 
and  desprdr  which  will  go  along  wdth  the  announcement  as  it 
spreads  through  distant  lands.  It  will  be  America,  after  fifty 
years'  experience,  giving  in  her  adhesion  to  the  doctrine  that 
man  was  not  made  for  self-government.  It  will  be  freedom 
herself  proclaiming  that  freedom  is  a  chimera;  Liberty  ring- 
ing her  owm  knell,  all  over  the  globe.  And,  when  the  citizens 
or  suhjects  ot  the  governments  which  are  to  succeed  this  Union 
shall  visit  Europe,  and  see,  in  some  land  now  struggling  to 
cast  off  its  fetters,  the  lacerated  and  lifeless  form  of  Liberty 
laid  prostrate  under  the  iron  heel  of  Depotism,  let  them  re- 
member that  the  blow  which  destroyed  her  was  inflicted  by 
their  own  country. 

THE  POWER  OF  HEROIC  EXAMPLE. 

We  must  not  forget  the  specific  and  invaluable  influence 
exerted  on  the  spirit  of  a  people  by  those  examples  of  signal 
heroism  and  chivalrous  self-devotion  for  which  a  magnani- 
mous war  gives  occasion,  and  which  it  exalts,  as  peace  cannot 
before  men's  minds. 

Such  examples  become  great  powers  in  civilization.  Elo- 
quence delights  to  rehearse  and  impress  them.  The  son^s  of 
a  nation  repeat  their  story,  and  make  their  triumph  sound 
again  through  the  silver  cymbals  of  speech.  Legends  prolong 
and  art  commemorates  them.  Language  itself  takes  new  images 
from  them;  and  words  that  are  themselves  "half-battles," 
are  suddenly  born  at  their  recital.  The  very  household  life 
is  exalted;  and  the  humblest  man  feels  his  position  higher, 
and  expresses  his  sense  of  it  in  a  more  dauntless  bearing,  as  ho 
sees  that  heroism  still  lives  in  the  world  ;  that  men  of  his  own 
race  and  stuff,  perhaps  of  his  owm  neighborhood  even,  have 
faced  so  calmly  such  vast  perils. 

And  by  and  by  we  shall  see  more  clearly  than  now  we 
can,  the  great  influence  thus  exerted  on  our  own  national 
career.  When  at  last  from  the  thunder  and  flame  on  the  top 
of  the  mount  the  nation  comes,  as  come  it  will,  with  its  very 
face  shining  from  the  heat  and  the  splendor  which  it  there  has 
encountered,  then  shall  it  appear  as  it  cannot  before,  that  no 


230  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

life  hath  been  more  productive  than  that  which  closed  before 
its  prime,  sprinkling  with  blood  the  stonj  steeps  of  this  ascent  I 
Then  shall  it  appear  that  the  delicate  hands  which  have 
changed  silk  gloves  for  iron  gauntlets  have  swept  thereby  the 
chords  which  vibrate  into  answers  that  distant  ages  still  shall 
hear !  Yea,  then  shall  it  appear  that  never  yet  was  forum 
reared,  or  senate  chamber  builded  to  be  the  fit  and  equal 
theatre  for  eloquence  so  thrilling  and  so  majestic  as  that  impe- 
rial eloquence  of  great  deeds  which  shook  the  soul  of  the 
whole  people  from  the  thundering  blufis  this  side  of  Leesburg ! 
Better  than  new  Oalifornias  every  year  are  such  examples  to 
a  nation  that  would  be  noble!  Its  very  language  and  life 
must  be  lost  before  their  force  shall  have  ceased  to  inspire  it. 


AMERICAN  NATIONALITY. 

By  the  side  of  all  antagonisms,  higher  than  they,  stronger 
than  they,  there  rises  colossal  the  fine  sweet  spirit  of  nation- 
ality, the  nationality  of  America!  See  there  the  pillar  of  fire 
which  God  has  kindled  and  lifted  and  moved  for  our  hosts 
and  our  ages.  Gaze  on  that,  worship  that,  worship  the  highest 
in  that.  Between  that  light  and  our  eyes  a  cloud  for  a  time 
may  seem  to  gather ;  chariots,  armed  men  on  foot,  the  troops 
of  kings  may  march  on  us,  and  our  fears  may  make  us  for  a 
moment  turn  from  it ;  a  sea  may  spread  before  us,  and  waves 
seem  to  hedge  us  up ;  dark  idolatries  may  alienate  some  hearts 
for  a  season  from  that  worship ;  revolt,  rebellion,  may  break 
out  in  the  camp,  and  the  waters  of  our  springs  may  run  bitter 
to  the  taste  and  mock  it ;  between  us  and  that  Canaan  a  great 
river  may  seem  to  be  rolling ;  but  beneath  that  high  guidance 
our  way  is  onward,  ever  onward  ;  those  waters  shall  part,  and 
stand  on  either  hand  in  heaps;  that  idolatry  shall  repent; 
that  rebellion  shall  be  crushed ;  that  stream  shall  be  sweet- 
ened ;  that  overflowing  river  shall  be  passed  on  foot  dry  shod, 
in  harvest  time  ;  and  from  that  promised  land  of  flocks,  fields 
tents!,  mountains,  coasts,  and  ships,  from  north  and  south,  and 
east  and  w^est,  there  shall  swell  one  cry  yet,  of  victory,  peace, 
and  thanksgiving ! 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.  231 

INFLUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONS. 

Think  nationality  first  as  a  spring  of  feeling,  as  a  motive 
to  exertion,  as  blessing  your  country,  and  as  reacting  on  yon. 
Think  of  it  as  it  fills  your  mind  and  quickens  your  heart,  and 
as  it  fills  the  mind  and  quickens  the  heart  of  millions  around 
you.  Instantly,  under  such  an  influence,  you  ascend  above  the 
smoke  and  stir  of  this  small  local  strife ;  you  tread  upon  the 
high  places  of  the  earth  and  of  history;  you  think  and  feel  as 
an  American  for  America  ;  her  power,  her  eminence,  her  con- 
sideration, her  honor,  are  yours ;  your  competitors,  lii<e  hers, 
are  kings ;  your  home,  like  hers,  is  the  world  ;  your  path,  like 
hers,  is  on  the  highway  of  empires;  our  charge,  her  charge, 
is  of  generations  and  ages ;  your  record,  her  record,  is  of 
treaties,  battles,  voyages,  beneath  all  the  constellations ;  her 
image,  one,  immortal,  golden,  rises  on  your  eye  as  our  western 
star  at  evening  rises  on  the  traveller  from  his  home ;  no  low- 
ering cloud,  no  angry  river,  no  lingering  spring,  no  broken 
crevasse,  no  inundated  city  or  plantation,  no  ti-acts  of  sand, 
arid  and  burning,  on  that  surface,  but  all  blended  and  softened 
into  one  beam  of  kindred  rays,  the  image,  harbinger,  and 
promiser  of  love,  hope,  and  a  brighter  day ! 

But  if  you  would  contemplate  nationality  as  an  active 
virtue^  look  around  you.  Is  not  our  own  history  one  witness 
and  one  record  of  what  it  can  do  ?  This  day  and  all  which  it 
it  stands  for, — did  it  not  give  us  these?  This  glory  of  the 
fields  of  that  war,  this  eloquence  of  that  revolution,  this  one 
wide  sheet  of  flame  which  wrapped  tyrant  and  tyranny  and 
swept  all  that  escaped  from  it  away,  forever  and  forever ;  the 
courage  to  fight,  to  retreat,  to  rally,  to  advance,  to  guard  the 
young  flag  by  the  young  arm  and  the  young  heart's  blood,  to 
hold  up  and  hold  on  till  the  magnificent  consummation  crowned 
the  work, — were  not  all  these  imparted  or  inspired  by  this 
imperial  sentiment  ? 

THE  NATIONAL  ENSIGN. 

Sir,  I  must  detain  you  no  longer.  I  have  said  enough,  and 
more  than  enough,  to  manifest  the  spirit  in  which  this  flag  is 


232  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

now  coinmitted  to  your  charge.  It  is  the  national  ensign, 
pure  and  simple;  dearer  to  all  our  hearts  at  this  moment,  as 
we  lift  it  to  the  gale,  and  see  no  other  sign  of  hope  upon  the 
storm-cloud  which  rolls  and  rattles  above  it,  save  that  which 
is  reflected  from  its  own  radiant  hues;  dearer,  a  thousand- 
fold dearer  to  us  all,  than  ever  it  was  before,  while  gild.-d  by 
the  sunshine  of  prosperity,  and  playing  with  the  zephyrs  of 
peace.  It  will  speak  for  itself  far  ujore  eloquently  than  I  can 
speak  for  it. 

Behold  it !  Listen  to  it !  Every  star  has  a  tongue  ;  every 
stripe  is  articulate.  There  is  no  language  or  speech  where 
their  voices  are  not  heard.  There's  magic  in  the  web  of  it. 
It  has  an  answer  for  every  question  of  duty.  It  has  a  solution 
for  every  doubt  and  perplexity.  It  has  a  word  of  good  cheer 
for  every  hour  of  gloom  or  of  despondency. 

Behold  it !  Listen  to  it !  It  speaks  of  earlier  and  of  later 
struggles.  It  speaks  of  victories,  and  sometimes  of  reverses, 
on  the  sex  and  on  the  land.  It  speaks  of  patriots  and  heroes 
among  the  living  and  the  dead  :  and  of  him,  the  first  and 
greatest  of  them  all,  around  whose  consecrated  ashes  this  un- 
natural and  abhorrent  strife  has  so  long  been  raging — "the 
abomination  of  desolation  standing  where  it  onght  not."  But 
before  all  and  above  all  other  associations  and  memories — 
whether  of  glorious  men,  or  glorious  deeds,  or  glorious  places 
— its  voice  is  ever  of  Union  and  Liberty,  of  the  Constitution 
and  the  Laws. 


THE  PERPETUITY  OF  THE  UNION". 

Give  up  the  Union  ?  Never  !  The  Union  shall  endure, 
and  its  praises  shall  be  heard  w^hen  its  friends  and  its  foes, 
those  who  support,  and  those  who  assail,  those  who  bare  their 
bosoms  in  its  defev.ce,  and  those  who  aim  their  daggers  at  irs 
heart,  shall  all  sleep  in  the  dust  together.  Its  name  shall  bo 
heard  with  veneration  araid  the  roar  of  the  Pacific's  waves, 
away  upon  the  river  of  the  North  and  East  where  liberty  is 
divided  from  monarchy,  and  be  wafted  in  gentle  breezes  upon 
the  Rio  Grande.    It  shall  rustle  in  the  harvest  and  wave  in 


SHOET   EXTRACTS.  233 

the  standing  corn,  on  the  extended  prairies  of  the  West,  and 
be  heard  in  the  bleating  folds  and  lowing  herds  upon  a  thou- 
sand hills.  It  shall  be  with  those  who  delve  in  mines,  and 
shall  hum  in  the  manufactories  of  New  England,  and  in  the 
cotton-gins  of  the  South.  It  shall  be  proclaimed  by  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  in  every  sea  of  earth,  as  the  American  Union,  one 
and  indivisible ;  upon  the  great  thoroughfares,  wherever 
steam  drives,  and  e!igines  throb  and  shriek,  its  greatness  and 
perpetuity  shall  be  hailed  with  gladness.  It  shall  be  lisped 
in  the  earliest  words,  and  ring  in  the  merry  voice3  of  child- 
hood, and  swell  to  Heaven  upon  the  song  of  maidens.  It  shall 
live  in  the  stern  resolve  of  manhood,  and  rise  to  the  mercy- 
seat  upon  woman's  gentle  availing  prayer.  Holy  men  shall 
invoke  Us  perpetuity  at  the  altars  of  religion,  and  it  shall  be 
whispered  in  the  last  accents  of  expiring  age. 

OUR  HEROIC  DEAD. 

There  is  a  history  in  almost  our  every  home  which  will 
never  be  written;  but  the  memory  of  kindred  has  it  embalmed 
forever.  The  representatives  of  the  pride  and  hope  of  un- 
counted households,  departing  will  return  no  more.  The  shaft 
of  the  archer,  attracted  by  the  shining  mark,  numbers  them 
among  his  fallen.  And,  beyond  the  AtJantic  slope,  every 
battle-field  has  drunk  the  blood  of  our  sons.  Officers  and 
enlisted  men  have  vied  with  each  other  in  deeds  of  valor. 
This  flag,  whose  standard-bearer,  shot  down  in  battle,  tossed 
it  from  his  dying  hand  nerved  by  undying  patriotism,  has  been 
caught  by  the  comrade,  who  in  his  turn  has  closed  his  eyes 
for  the  last  time  upon  its  starry  folds  as  another  hero-martyr 
clasped  the  splintered  staff  and  rescued  the  symbol  at  once  of 
country  and  of  their  blood-bought  fame. 

How  can  fleeting  words  of  human  praise  gild  the  record  of 
tlieir  glory?  Our  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  blood  retreat- 
ing to  the  heart,  stirred  \^ith  unwonted  thrill,  speak  with  the 
eloquence  of  nature,  utt-ered  but  unexpressed.  From  the  din  of 
the  battle,  they  have  passed  to  the  peace  of  eternity.  Fare- 
well! warrior,  citizen,  patriot,  lover,  friend;  whether  in  the 
humbler  ranks  or  bearing  the  sword  of  official  power,  whether 


234  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

private,  captain,  surgeon,  or  chaplain,  for  all  these  in  the 
heavy  fight  have  passed  away.  Hail!  and  Farewell!  Each 
hero  must  sleep  serenely  on  the  field  where  he  fell  in  a  cause 
"sacred  to  liberty  and  the  rights  of  mankind." 

HONOR  TO  OUR  HEROES. 

The  heart  swells  with  unwonted  emotion  when  we  remem- 
ber oui-  sons  and  broihers,  whose  constant  valor  has  sustained 
on  the  field,  during  nearly  three  years  of  war,  the  cause  of 
our  country,  of  civilization  and  liberty.  The  muse  herself 
demands  the  lapse  of  silent  years  to  sofien,  by  the  influences 
of  time,  her  too  keen  and  poignant  realization  of  the  scenes 
of  war,  the  pathos,  the  heroism,  the  fierce  joy,  the  grief  of 
battle.  But  during  the  ages  to  come,  she  will  brood  over  their 
memory.  Into  the  hearts  of  her  consecrated  ones  will  breathe 
the  inspirations  of  lofty  and  undying  beauty,  sublimity,  and 
truth,  in  all  the  glowing  forms  of  speech,  of  literature  and 
plastic  art.  By  the  homely  traditions  of  the  fireside,  by  the 
headstones  in  the  churchyard  consecrated  to  those  whose 
forms  repose  far  off  in  rude  graves  by  the  Rappahannock,  or 
sleep  beneath  the  sea,  embalmed  in  the  memories  of  succeed- 
ing generations  of  parents  and  children,  the  heroic  dead  will 
live  on  in  immortal  youth. 

POLITICAL  MORALITY. 

Remember  that  the  greatness  of  our  country  is  not  in  its 
achievement,  but  in  its  promise,  a  promi-e  which  cannot  be 
fulfilled  without  that  sovereign  moral  sense,  without  a  sensitive 
national  conscience.  If  it  were  a  question  of  the  mere  daily 
pleasure  of  living,  the  gratification  of  taste,  opportunity  of 
access  to  the  great  intellectual  and  sesthetic  results  of  human 
genius,  and  whatever  embellishes  human  life,  no  man  could 
hesitate  for  a  moment  between  the  fulness  of  foreign  lands  in 
these  respects,  and  the  conspicuous  poverty  of  our  own.  What 
have  we  done?  We  have  subdued  and  settled  a  va-t  domain. 
Wo  have  made  every  inland  river  turn  a  mill,  and  wherever, 
on  the  dim  rim  of  the  globe,  there  is  a  harbor,  we  have  lighted 


SHOET   EXTRACTS.  235 

it  witli  an  American  sail.  We  have  bound  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Mississippi,  so  that  we  drift  from  the  sea  to  the  prairie  upon  a 
cloud  of  vapor ;  and  we  are  stretching  one  hand  across  the 
continent  to  fulfil  the  hope  of  Columbus  in  a  shorter  way  to 
Cathay,  and  with  the  other  we  are  grasping  under  the  sea  to 
c'asp  there  tlie  hand  of  the  old  continent,  that  so  the  throbbing 
of  the  ocean  may  not  toss  us  further  apart,  but  be  as  the  beat- 
ing of  one  common  pulse  of  the  world. 

Yet  these  are  the  results  common  to  ail  national  enterprise, 
and  different  with  us  only  in  degree,  not  in  kind.  These  are 
but  the  tools  with  which  to  shape  a  destiny.  Commercial 
prosperity  is  only  a  curse,  if  it  be  not  subservient  to  moral  and 
intellectual  progress;  and  our  prosperity  will  conquer  us,  if  we 
do  not  conquer  our  prosperity. 


OUR  cou:n'try's  greatest  glory. 

The  true  glory  of  a  nation  is  in  an  intelligent,  honest, 
industrious  Christian  people.  The  civilization  of  a  people 
depends  on  their  individual  character;  and  a  consiitution 
which  is  not  the  outgrowth  of  this  character  is  not  worth  the 
p  irchment  on  which  it  is  written.  Yuu  look  in  vain  in  the 
past  for  a  single  instance  where  the  people  have  preserved 
their  liberties  after  their  individual  character  was  lost. 

The  true  gL>ry  (fa  nation  is  in  the  living  temple  of  a  loyal, 
industrious,  and  upright  people,  'ihe  busy  click  of  machinerj^ 
the  merry  ring  of  the  anvil,  the  lowing  of  peaceful  herds,  and 
the  song  of  the  harvest-home,  are  sweeter  music  than  paeans 
of  departed  glory,  or  songs  of  triumph  in  war.  The  vine-clad 
cottage  of  the  hill-side,  the  cabin  of  the  woodsman,  and  the 
rural  home  of  the  farmer,  are  the  true  citadels  of  any  country. 
There  is  a  dignity  in  honest  toil  which  belongs  not  to  the  ds- 
play  of  wealth  or  the  luxury  of  fashion.  The  man  who  drives 
the  plough,  or  swings  his  axe  in  the  forest,  or  with  cunning 
lingers  plies  the  tools  of  his  craft,  is  as  truly  the  servant  of 
his  country  as  the  statesman  in  the  senate  or  the  soldier  in 
battle.  The  safety  of  a  nation  depends  not  alone  on  the  wis- 
dom of  its  statesmen,  or  the  bravery  of  its  generals.    The 


236  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

tongue  of  eloquence  never  saved  a  nation  tottering  to  its  fall; 
the  sword  of  a  warrior  never  stayed  its  dest ruction. 

Would  you  see  the  image  of  true  glory,  I  would  show  you 
villages  where  the  crown  and  glory  of  the  people  was  in 
Christian  schools,  where  the  voice  of  prayer  goes  heaven-ward, 
where  the  people  have  that  most  prictless  ^\%  faith  in  God, 


LOYE  OF  COUNTRY. 

Next  to  the  worship  of  the  Father  of  us  all,  the  deepest 
and  grandest  of  human  emotions  is  the  love  of  the  land  that 
gave  us  birth.  It  is  an  enlargement  and  exaltation  of  all  the 
tenderest  and  strongest  sympathies  of  kindred  and  cf  home. 
In  all  centuries  and  Xilimes  it  has  lived,  and  defied  chains  and 
dungeons  and  racks  to  crush  it.  It  has  strewed  the  earth  with 
its  monuments,  and  has  shed  undying  lustre  on  a  thousand 
fields  on  which  it  has  battled.  Through  the  night  of  ages, 
Thermopyl83  glows  like  some  mountain  peak  on  which  the  morn- 
ing sun  has  risen,  because  twenty-three  hundred  years  ago, 
this  hallowing  passion  touched  its  mural  precipices  and  its 
crowning  crags.  It  is  e  sy,  however,  to  be  j  atriotic,  in  piping 
times  of  peace,  and  in  the  sunny  hour  of  prosperity.  It  is 
national  sorrow — it  is  war,  wdth  its  attendant  perils  and  hor- 
rors, that  tests  this  passion,  and  winnows  from  the  masses 
those  who,  with  all  their  love  of  life,  still  love  their  country 
more.  We  honor  commerce  with  its  busy  marts,  and  the 
workshop  with  its  patient  toil  and  exhaustless  ingenuity,  but 
still  we  would  be  unfaithful  to  the  truth  of  history  did  we  not 
con^'ess  that  the  most  heroic  champions  of  human  freedom  and 
the  most  illustrious  apostles  of  its  principles  have  come  from 
the  broad  fields  of  agriculture.  There  seems  to  be  something 
in  the  scenes  of  nature,  in  her  wild  and  beautiful  landsca'  es, 
in  her  cascades  and  cataracts,  and  waving  woodlands,  and  in 
the  pure  and  exhilarating  airs  of  her  hills  and  mountains,  that 
umbraces  the  fetters  which  man  would  rivet  upon  the  spirit  of 
his  fellow-man.  It  was  at  the  handles  of  the  plow,  and  amid 
the  breathing  odors  of  its  newly-opened  furrows,  that  the  char- 
acter of  Cincinnatus  was  formed,  expanded,  and  matured.     It 


SHORT   EXTRACTS.  237 

was  not  in  the  city  full,  but  in  the  deep  gorges  and  upon  the 
snow-clad  summits  of  the  Alps — amid  the  eagles  und  the  thun- 
ders, that  William  Tell  laid  the  foundations  of  those  altars  to 
hum?in  liberty  against  which  the  surging  tides  of  European 
despotism  have  beaten  for  centuries,  but  thank  God,  have 
beaten  in  vain. 


LOYALTY  TO  LIBERTY  OUR  ONLY  HOPE. 

The  love  of  country  is  the  gift  of  God — it  cannot  dwell  in 
homes  of  sin,  it  has  no  abiUng  place  in  saloons  of  Vice  or  dens 
of  infamy,  it  belongs  not  to  infidel  c'ub?  or  fanatical  conventions, 
they  would  tear  down  tlie  sacred  edifice  which  they  have  never 
loved;  they  are  impatient  for  change,  for  in  the  seething  cal- 
dron of  rebellion  they  are  brought  to  the  surface.  With 
nothing  to  lose,  they  have  no  fear  of  the  days  of  terror  ;  their 
only  dread  is  in  the  majesty  of  the  law.  Tlie  love  of  country 
belongs  to  a  God-fearinur  people ;  it  is  seen  in  the  purity  of  pri- 
vate life,  in  the  privacy  of  Cliristian  homes,  in  the  devotions  of 
the  closet,  in  the  manliness  of  Christian  character.  The  church 
is  its  nursing  mother.  Loyalty  to  God  and  to  her  insiitutions 
is  her  first  and  last  lesson;  it  i-5  the  earnest  cry  of  her  loyal 
children  "  tliat  peace  and  happine-s,  truth  and  justice,  religl*  n 
and  piety,  may  be  established  among  us  for  all  generations." 
The  love  of  country  belongs  to  Icyal  men.  The  power  of  self- 
government  depends  upon  a  loyal  people. 

The  protection  of  the  nation  depends  not  on  the  wisdom  of 
its  senators,  not  on  the  vigilance  of  its  police,  not  on  the  strong 
arm  of  standing  armies  :  but  the  loyalty  of  a  united  people. 
Other  nations  have  equalled  us  in  all  the  arts  of  civiliz.ition, 
in  discoveries,  in  science,  in  skill,  and  in  invention  :  they  have 
kept  even  step  with  us  and  often  surpassed  us  in  philosophy 
and  literature  ;  they  have  been  brave  in  war  and  wise  in  coun- 
cil;  they  have  clustered  round  their  homes  all  that  art  cnn 
lavish  of  beauty — but  ripe  scholarship,  cunning  in  art,  or  skill 
in  invention  never  gave  to  the  people  a  constitution.  This  is 
the  outgrowth  of  a  manly  spirit  of  loy.dty.  It  teaches  men 
duty — a  right  manly  word  for  right  manly  men. 


238  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


OUR  GREAT  INHERITANCE. 

"We  have  the  greatest  country  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Let 
not  our  minds  be  so  distracted  by  mere  party  strife  and  con- 
fusion that  we  shall  see  our  government  fall  to  pieces  before 
our  eyes,  and  sacrifice  our  country  to  our  party,  instead  of  be- 
ing ready  at  all  times  to  sacrifice  our  party  to  our  country. 
After  we  become  the  slave  of  party,  we  dare  not,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  any  danger  to  the  country,  turn  our  backs  to  our  par- 
ties, and  say  that  we  have  a  country  that  demands  our  services, 
and  to  it  we  will  give  them.  Are  we  now  unable  to  do  this? 
Have  we  lost  this  spirit  ?  has  it  gone  from  among  us  ? 

Providence  has  given  this  great  country  to  us.  Our  wise 
and  valiant  forefathers  gave  us  liberty  and  established  a  gov- 
ernment for  us.  Let  us  take  care  of  it — take  care  of  the  Con- 
stitution and  the  Union.  That  is  all  we  require.  We  have 
before  us  the  prospect  of  a  glory  unknown  to  other  nations — 
a  prospect  in  which  our  land  will  become  the  glory  of  the 
earth.  Neither  Rome  nor  any  of  the  great  empires  of  antiqui- 
ty or  of  mo  lern  times  can  compare  witli  what  we  shall  be  at 
no  distant  day.  We  are  now  thirty  millions  strong,  yet  we  have 
been  but  eighty  years  in  existence  as  a  free  nation.  From  the 
year  1776  down  to  the  present  time,  God  Almighty  has  blessed 
us  above  all  other  people  and  all  other  nations.  Where  shall 
we  be  thirty  years  hence  if  such  prosperity  attend  us  ?  A  great 
nation  of  one  hundred  million  souls,  with  not  enough  then  to 
develop  all  our  resources.  Every  man  free  to  think,  free  to 
speak,  free  to  act,  free  to  work.  What  must  this  mighty  free- 
dom produce  with  this  mighty  concurrence  of  hearts,  of  heads, 
of  hands  !     What  navies,  what  armies,  what  cities ! 


FREE  HOMES  FOR  FREE  MEN. 

I  would  provide  in  our  land  policy  for  securing  homesteads 
to  actual  settlers;  and  whatever  bounties  the  government 
should  grant  to  the  old  soldiers,  I  would  have  made  in  money 


SHOET   EXTRACTS.  239 

and  not  in  land  wa^'rants,  wliich  are  bought  in  most  cases  by 
speculators  as  an  easier  and  cheaper  mode  of  acquiring  the  pub- 
lic lands.  So  they  only  facilitate  land  monopoly.  Tlie  men 
who  go  forth  at  the  call  of  their  country  to  uphcjld  its  stand- 
ard and  vindicate  its  honor,  are  deserving,  it  is  true,  of  a  more 
substantial  reward  than  tears  to  the  dead  and  thanks  to  the 
living  ;  but  there  are  soldiers  of  peace  as  well  as  of  war,  and 
though  no  waving  plume  beckons  them  on  to  glory  or  to  death, 
their  dying  scene  is  often  a  crimson  one.  They  fall  leadmg 
the  van  of  civilization  along  untrodden  paths,  and  are  buried  in 
the  dust  of  its  advancing  columns.  No  monument  marks  the 
scene  of  deadly  strife  ;  no  stone  their  resting  place  ;  the  winds 
sighing  thi'ough  the  branches  of  the  forest  trees  alone  sing 
their  requiem.  Yet  tliey  are  the  meritorious  men  of  the  Ee- 
public — the  men  who  give  it  strength  in  war  and  glory  in 
peace.  The  achievments  of  your  pioneer  army,  from  the  day 
t!iey  first  drove  back  the  Indian  tribes  from  the  Atlantic  sea- 
board to  the  present  hour,  have  been  the  achievements  of  science 
and  civilization  over  the  elements,  the  wilderness,  and  the 
savage. 

If  rewards  or  bounties  are  to  be  granted  for  true  heroism  in 
tliC  progress  of  the  race,  none  is  more  deserving  than  the  pioneer 
who  expels  the  savage  and  the  wild  beast,  and  opens  in  the 
wilderness  a  home  for  science  and  a  pathway  for  civiliazation. 


ALL  VALUE  CEI^TRES  IN  MIND. 

Universal  education,  the  culture  of  eveiy  mind  born  into 
tlie  world,  is  necessary;  if  this  w^orld  was  made  for  any  pur- 
pose be>ides  the  glory  of  God  (and  to  contribute  to  God's 
gl*  >ry  is  to  exalt  and  dignify  mind),  unless  its  creation  was  an 
accident  or  a  blunder,  it  was  formed  to  be  the  schoolhonse  of 
the  race,  to  minister  in  its  various  forms  of  harmony,  beauty, 
and  sublimity,  to  the  necessities  of  the  souls  that  have  been 
placed  in  it.  It  is  for  this  that  the  mountain  shoots  up  from 
the  plain,  and  stands  in  majesty  against  the  distant  sky;  for 
this  the  earth  puts  on  her  gorgeous  robes  of  spring  and  sum- 
mer ;  for  this  the  sea  is  spread  out  in  beauty  when  the  winds 


240  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

are  hushed,  or  is  rouse;!  into  terrific  sublinuty  whdi  the  tem- 
pest is  abroad;  for  this  the  heavens  put  on  their  star-decked 
mantle,  and  make  the  night  more  glorious  than  the  day ;  fur 
this  planets  and  suns  move  with  measured  and  obedient  step 
through  an  extent  of  space  that  appals  even  the  mind  to  which 
it  ministers;  for  this  all  nature,  like  a  grand  instrument,  witli 
infinite  variety  of  parts  and  expression,  has  been  uttering  her 
voice;  from  the  time  when  the  morning  stars  sang  together, 
and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy.  Every  tint  of  the 
rose,  every  sigh  of  the  breeze,  every  glimpse  of  the  sunshine, 
is  laid  as  an  offering  upon  the  shiine  of  mind ;  and  man,  feeble 
and  frail  though  he  be,  is  admitted  to  a  share  of  the  magnifi- 
cent homage. 

We  may  depend  upon  it,  there  is  nothing  with  which  we 
have  to  do  that  is  of  so  much  consequence  as  mind.  And, 
if  so,  it  follows  that  all  mind  should  be  educated.  This  is 
the  great  duty  of  humanity. 


OUR  SYSTEM  OF  PUBLIC  INSTRUCTION  SHOULD  DIS- 
TINCTIVELY INCULCATE  A  LOVE  OF  COUNTRY. 

The  true  American  patriot  is  ever  a  worshipper.  The 
.  starry  symbol  of  his  country's  sovereignty  is  to  him  radiant 
with  a  diviner  glory  than  that  which  meets  liis  mortal  vision. 
It  epitomizes  the  splendid  results  of  dreary  ages  of  experiments 
and  failures  in  human  government ;  and,  as  he  gazes  u['on  its 
starry  folds  undulating  responsive  to  the  whispering  winds  of 
the  upper  air,  it  sometimes  seems  to  his  rn{)t  spirit  to  recede 
further  and  further  into  the  soft  blue  skies,  till  the  heavens 
open,  and  angel  hands  plant  it  upon  the  battlements  of 
Paradise.  Its  stars  seem  real ;  its  lines  of  wliite  symbol  the 
purity  of  his  heroic  sires;  those  of  red,  their  patriot  blood 
shed  in  defense  of  the  right.  To  defend  that  flag,  is  to  him 
something  more  than  a  duty,  it  is  a  joy,  a  coveted  privilege, 
akin  to  that  which  nerves  the  arm  and  directs  the  blow  in 
defense  of  wife  or  child.  To  insult  it,  is  worse  than  infamy; 
to  make  war  upon  it,  more  than  treason. 


SHOET   EXTRACTS .  241 

A  perfect  civil  government  is  the  sublimest  earthly  symbol 
of  Deity — indeed,  such  a  government  is  a  transcript  of  the 
divine  will;  its  spirit  and  principles  identical  with  those  wiih 
which  he  governs  the  universe.  Its  vigilance,  care  and  pro- 
tection, are  ubiquitous,  its  strong  haiid  is  ever  ready  to  raise 
the  fallen,  restrain  the  violent,  and  punish  the  aggressor.  Its 
patient  ear  is  bent  to  catch  alike  the  complaint  of  the  rich  and 
strong,  or  the  poor  and  weak,  while  unerring  justice  presides 
at  the  trial  and  settlement  of  every  issue  between  man  and 
man. 

Now,  our  government  is  not  perfect,  even  in  theory,  and 
still  less  so  in  practice ;  but  it  is  good,  and  strong,  and  glorious 
enough  to  inspire  a  loftier  patriotism  than  animates  the  people 
of  any  other  nation.  What  element  is  wanting  to  evoke  the 
passionate  love  and  admiration  of  an  American  citizen  for  hia 
country  ? 


LIBERTY  AND  THE  LIBERTY  OF  THE  PRESS. 

Sir,  the  liberty  of  the  press  is  the  highest  safeguard  to  all 
free  government.  Ours  could  not  exist  without  it.  It  is  like 
a  great,  exulting  and  abounding  river.  It  is  fed  by  the  dews 
of  heaven,  which  distil  their  sweetest  drops  to  form  it.  It 
gushes  from  the  rill  as  it  breaks  from  the  deep  caverns  of  the 
earth.  It  is  augmented  by  a  thousand  affluents,  that  dash 
from  the  mountain-top,  to  separate  again  into  a  thousand 
bounteous  and  irrigating  steams  around.  On  its  broad  bosom 
it  bears  a  thousand  barks.  There  genius  spreads  its  purpling 
sail.  There  poetry  dips  its  silver  oar.  There  art,  invention, 
discovery,  science,  morality  and  religion,  may  safely  nnd 
securely  float.  It  wanders  through  every  land.  It  is  a  genial, 
cordial  source  of  thought  and  inspiration,  wherever  it  touches, 
whatever  it  surrounds.  Upon  its  borders  there  grows  every 
flower  of  grace,  and  every  fruit  of  truth.  Sir,  I  am  not 
here  to  deny  that  that  river  sometimes  oversteps  its  bounds. 
I  am  not  here  to  deny  that  that  stream  sometimes  becomes  a 
dangerous  torrent,  and  destroys  towns  and  cities  upon  its  bank, 
11 


242  VOICE    AND   ACTIOSr. 

But  I  am  here  to  say  that,  without  it,  civilization,  humanity, 
government,  all  that  makes  society  itself,  would  disappear,  and 
the  world  wou^d  return  to  its  ancient  barbarism.  Sir,  if  that 
were  possible,  though  but  for  a  moment,  civilization  would 
roll  the  wheels  of  its  car  backward  for  two  thousand  years, 
and  the  fine  conception  of  the  poet  would  be  realized  ; 

"  As  one  by  one,  in  dread  Medea^s  train, 
Star  after  star  fades  off  the  ethereal  plain, 
Thus  at  her  fell  ai)proach  and  secret  might 
Art  after  art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night. 
Philosophy,  that  leaned  on  heaven  before, 
Sinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 
Eeligion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires, 
And,  unawares,  morality  expires." 


A   OATEGOEICAL   COUETSHIP. 

I  sat  one  night  beside  a  blue-eyed  girl — 

The  fire  was  out,  and  so,  too,  was  her  mother ; 
A  feeble  flame  around  the  lamp  did  curl, 

Making  faint  shadows,  blending  in  each  other ; 
'Twas  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  too,  in  November, 
She  had  a  shawl  on,  also,  I  remember. 
Well,  I  had  been  to  see  her  every  n'ght 

Eor  thirteen  days,  and  had  a  sneaking  notion 
To  pop  the  question,  thinking  all  was  right. 

And  once  or  twice  had  made  an  awkward  motion 
To  take  her  hand,  and  stammered,  coughed  and  stuttered, 
But  somehow  nothing  to  the  point  had  uttered. 
I  thought  this  chance  too  good  now  to  be  lost; 

I  hitched  my  chair  up  pretty  close  beside  her, 
Drew  a  long  breath,  and  then  my  legs  I  crossed, 

Bent  over,  sighed,  and  for  five  minutes  eyed  her ; 
She  looked  as  if  she  knew  what  next  was  coming. 
And  with  her  foot  upon  the  floor  was  drumming. 
I  did'nt  know  how  to  begin,  or  where — 

I  could'nt  speak,  the  words  were  always  choking ; 
I  scarce  could  move — I  seemed  tied  in  my  chair — 


SHOET   EXTRACTS.  243 

I  litirdly  breathed — 't  was  awfully  provoking ; 
The  perspiration  from  each  pore  was  oozing, 
My  heart  and  brain  and  limbs  their  power  seemed  losing. 

At  length  I  saw  a  brindle  tabby  cat 
"Walk  purring  up,  inviting  me  to  pat  her ; 

An  idea  came,  electric-like,  at  that — 
My  doubts,  like  summer  clouds,  began  to  scatter, 

I  seized  on  tabby,  though  a  scratch  she  gave  me, 

And  said,  "  Come,  Puss,  ask  Mary  if  shell  have  me  ?  " 
'Twas  done  at  once — ^the  murder  now  was  out. 

The  thing  was  all  explained  in  half  a  minute  ; 
She  bluslied,  and  turning  pussy  cat  about, 

Said,  "  Pussy,  tell  him,  yes !  "  Her  foot  was  in  it  I 
The  cat  had  thus  saved  me  my  categor}^, 
And  here's  the  catastrophe  of  my  story. 

MUTUAL   ASSISTANCE. 

A  man  very  lame  was  a  little  to  blame, 

To  stray  far  from  his  humble  abode ; 
Hot,  thirsty,  bemired,  and  heartily  tired, 

He  laid  himself  down  in  the  road. 

While  thus  he  reclined,  a  man  who  was  blind, 

Came  by  and  entreated  his  aid : 
**  Deprived  of  my  sight,  unassisted  to-night, 

I  shall  not  reach  home,  Pm  afraid." 

''  Intelligence  give  of  the  place  where  you  live," 
Said  the  cripple,  '' perhaps  I  may  know  it ; 

In  my  road  it  may  be,  and  if  youll  carry  me, 
It  will  give  much  pleasure  to  show  it. 

*'  Great  strength  you  have  got,  which  alas  I  I  have  not, 

In  my  legs  so  fatigued  every  nerve  is ; 
For  the  use  of  your  back,  for  the  eyes  which  you  lack, 

My  pair  shall  be  much  at  your  service." 

Said  the  other  poor  man,  "  What  an  excellent  plan  I 
Pray  get  on  my  shoulders,  good  brother ; 

I  see  all  mankind,  if  they  are  but  inclined, 
May  constantly  help  one  another." 


244  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


THE   COUETIN'. 


God  makes  sech  nights,  all  white  an'  still,  furz  you  can  look 

or  listen, 
Moonshine  an'  snow  on  field  an'  hill,  all  silence  an'  ai.  glisten. 
Zekle   crep'  up,  quite  unbeknown,   an'   peeked  in    thru    the 

winder, 
An'  there  sot  Huldj,  all  alone,  with  no  one  nigh  to  hinder. 
A  fire-place  filled  the  room's  one  side  with  half  a  cord  o'  wood 

in,— 
There  warn't  no  stoves  till  Comfort  died,  to  bake  ye  to  a 

puddin'. 
The  wa'nut  logs  shot  sparkles  out  toward  the  pootiest,  bless 

her! 
An'  leetle  flames  danced  all  about  the  chiny  on  the  dresser. 
Agin  the  chimbley  crookiiecks   hung,   and  in  amongst  'em 

rusted 
The  ole  queen's-arm  that  gran'ther  Young  fetched  back  from 

Concord  busted. 
The  very  room,  coz  she  was  in,  seemed  warm  from  floor  to 

ceilin', 
An'  she  looked  full  ez  rosy  agin  ez  the  apples  she  was  peelin'. 
'T  was  kin'  o'  kingdom  come  to  look  on  sech  a  blessed  cretur, 
A  dogoose  blushin'  to  a  brook  aint  modester  nor  sweeter. 
He  was  six  foot  o'  man,  A  1,  clean  grit  an'  human  natur, 
None  could'nt  quicker  pitch  a  ton,  nor  dror  a  furrer  straighter. 
He'd  sparked  it  with  full  twenty  gals,  he'd  squired  'em,  danced 

'em,  druv  'em, 
Fust  tliis  one,  an'  then  thet,  by  spells, — all  is,  he  couldn't  love 

'em. 
But  long  o'  her,  his  veins  'ould  run  all  crinkly,  like  curled 

maple. 
The  sid3  she  breshed  felt  full  o'  sun  ez  a  south  slope  in  Ap'il. 
She  thought  no  v'ice  had  sech  a  swing  as  hisn  in  the  choir ; 
My !  when  he  made  Ole  Hundred  ring,  she  Tcnowed  the  Lord 

was  nigher. 
An'  she'd  blush  scarlit,  right  in  prayer,  when  her  new  meet- 
in-'  bunnet 


SELECTIONS.  245 

Felt,  somehow,  thru  its  crown,  a  pair  o'  blue  eyes  sot  upon  it. 
Thet  night,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  seme  !  she  seemed  to  Ve  gut 

a  new  soul. 
For  she  felt  sartin-sure  he  'd  come,  down  to  her  very  shoe- 
sole.     - 
She  heerd  a  foot,  an'  knowed  it,  'tu,  a-raspiri'  on  the  scraper, — 
All  ways  to  once  her  feelins'  flew,  like  sparks  in  barnt-up 

paper. 
He  kin'  o'  h)itered  on  the  mat,  some  doubtfle  o'  the  sekle, 
His  heart  kep'  goin'  pity-pat,  but  hern  went  pity-Zekle. 
An'  yit,  she  gin  her  cheer  a  jerk,  ez  though  she  wished  him 

furder, 
An'  on  her  apples  kep'  to  work,  parin'  away  like  murder. 
"  You  w^ant  to  see  my  Pa,  I  s'pose  ?  "     "  Wal — no — I  come 

designin' " — 
"To  see  my  Ma?     She's    sprinklin'    clo'es  agin  to-morrer'a 

i'nin." 
To  say  why  gals  act  so  or  so,  or  don't,  would  be  presumin' ; 
Mebby  to  mean  yes  an'  say  no  comes  nateral  to  women. 
He  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust,  then  stood  a  spell  on  t' 

other, 
An'  on  which  one  be  felt  the  wust,  he  couldn't  ha'  told  ye, 

nuther. 
Says  he,  "I'd  better  call  agin."     Says  she,   "Think  likely, 

Mister." 
That  last  word  pricked  him  like  a  pin,  an' — wal,  he  up  an' 

kissed  ber. 
"When  Ma,  bimeby,  upon  'em  slips,  Huldy  sot,  pale  as  ashes, 
All  kin'  o'  smily  roun'  the  lips,  an'  teary  rouii'  the  lashes. 
For  she  was  jest  the  quiet  kind,  whose  naturs  never  vary 
Like  streams  thet  keep  a  summer  mind  snow-hid  in  Jenooary. 
The  blood  clost  roun'  her  heart  felt  glued  too  tight  for  all  ex- 

pressin', 
Till  mother  see  how  matters   stood,   an'  gin  'em  both  her 

blessin'. 
Then  her  red  come  back,  like  the  tide  down  to  the  Bay  o' 

Fundy, 
An'  all  I  know  is,  they  was  cried  in  meetin'  come  nex'  Sun- 
day. 


246  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 


JONTEEL    HOMME.  x 

In  ADgleterre,  I  vas  vat  you  call  de  emigrant ;  because  in 
de  revolution,  ma  foi !  ven  my  conntree,  dat  I  love  so  much, 
vant  to  cut  off  my  head,  I  take  to  my  feet,  and  rim  away  very 
fast,  so  dat  de  guillotine  can  no  cut  short  my  valk  over  de  sea 
— not  at  all.  Here  I  make  the  montre,  vat  you  call  the  vatch. 
I  am  de  horologer,  de  clock-maker,  and  getde  living  by  de  ticK 
Mais  dans  Paris,  in  my  own  countree,  I  vas  very  large  man, 
indeed  ;  vas  nobleman,  and  stood  very  high  indeed  in  de  grand 
armee  Royale. 

De  oder  day,  I  vas  valk  in  vat  you  call  you  Park,  and  dere 
I  see  sit  on  de  bench,  un  pauvre  homme.  He  seem  very 
hungry,  very  cold ;  he  looked  very  dirty,  very  ragged,  and 
very  poor,  indeed — but  he  appear  very  jonteel  man  for  all 
dat.  I  go  to  him,  and  I  say  to  him — for  I  see  in  de  twinkle 
of  de  eye  he  vas  von  Frenchman — vas  my  countree -man  : 
"  Mon  ami,  my  friend,  my  countree-man,  for  vat  you  sit  on  dis 
bench  here,  vy  you  not  go  to  de  cook-shop,  de  restaurateur, 
vere  dey  eat  de  beef  and  de  mouton,  and  de  sallad,  and  de 
pomrae  de  terre  ?  "  He  say  to  me  :  "  I  am  brave  Frangais, 
I  am  jontil  homme, — I  am  one  of  de  first  men  in  all  France, 
but  I  am  sans  sous,  point  d'argent,  I  have  not  one  single  farth- 
ing dans  tout  le  monde,  not  a  penny  in  all  de  vorld,  and  no 
credit  at  all." 

Den  he  show  me  his  pockets  filled  vid  very  large  holes,  but 
noting  else ;  but  he  appear  a  very  jontil-homme  for  all  dat. 
And  all  at  vonce,  immediately,  instantment,  in  de  half  second, 
I  recollect  to  have  seen  him  in  Paris,  dress  all  in  de  silver  and 
in  de  gold  lace.  Jontilhomme,  or  nobleman,  I  forget  vich, 
but  it  vas  all  de  same,  I  Icok  again, — ma  foi !  he  have  no  lace 
but  de  rags,  and  no  silver  but  de  gray  hair  dat  grow  out  of 
de  hole  in  de  top  of  his  hat,  like  you  see  de  pigeon  claw  stick 
out  of  de  pie,-— but  he  vas  a  very  jonteel  homme  for  all  dat. 

He  make  de  graceful  bow  to  me.  Mon  Dieu !  his  knee 
come  out  of  de  pantaloon,  and  I  see  his  great  toe  look  at  me 
out  of  de  end  of  his  boot.     I  say  to  him  :  My  countree-man, 


SELECTIONS.  247 

mon  ami,  no  d'argent,  no  credit,  no  dinner!  vat  for  you  leave 
you  logement,  den  ? — vy  you  no  take  de  refreshment,  and  de 
sleep  in  you  bed  ?  He  say  to  me  :  "  Ah,  mon  ami !  I  have  no 
logement,  no  bed  :  I  lodge  in  de  open  air,  vere  I  pay  no  rent, 
and  I  sleep  here :  de  bench  is  my  mattrass,  and  de  tree  dat 
hangover  my  head  de  curtain."  ^' Ma  foi!  no  logement,  no 
bed  !  pauvre  homme,  my  heart  is  melt  vid  de  great  big  pity 
for  you.  My  friend,  my  countree-man,  I  shall  take  you  home 
to  my  maison,  and  give  you  de  diner  and  de  sleep  for  de  night. 
My  landlady  is  very  particulaire,  she  no  like  de  stranger  to 
sleep  in  her  domicile ;  so,  ve  vill  vait,  and  get  de  bon  appetite 
till  it  is  dark — den,  you  sail  pull  off  you  shoe,  and  ve  vill  steal 
U[)  de  stair,  and  nobody  sail  know  dat  you  are  dere."  Veil,  ve 
valk  under  de  tree,  and  talk  of  de  grand  restaurateur  vere  dey 
have  de  five  hundred  dishes  for  dinner,  at  de  splendid  palace 
of  de  great  monarque  a  Versailles,  till  at  last  it  grow  to  de 
dark  night — den,  ve  steal  home  to  my  logement,  and  I  open  de 
d  )or  vid  de  littel  key  vat  I  have  in  my  pocket;  den  I  rub  my 
shoe  on  de  mat,  and  I  leave  de  dirt ;  mon  ami,  my  countree- 
man,  he  rub  his  shoe  on  de  mat,  and  lie  h^ave  de  sole  dere — 
but  he  vas  a  very  jonteel  homme  for  all  dat.  Ve  have  de 
r.ttel  joke  on  his  loss  of  de  sole ;  den  I-pull  off  my  shoe,  and 
dere  is  my  stocking;  mon  ami,  my  countree-man,  he  pull  oft 
his  shoe,  and  dere  is  only  his  foot :  he  have  no  stocking  at  all. 
Veil,  ve  have  the  littel  joke  because  he  have  no  stocking,  and 
ve  creep  up  de  stair  light  as  de  feather,  vidout  anybody  hear. 
Veil,  ve  get  into  my  room,  mon  apartment,  mon  chambre  a 
lit;  dere  1  strike  de  light,  make  de  fire,  lay  de  cloth,  and  get 
my  dinner  frotn  de  cupboard.  I  pull  out  de  large  piece  of 
bread,  de  neck  of  mouton  dat  vas  boiled  yesterday,  and  de 
great  dish  of  soup  dat  I  make  hot ;  and  I  say :  "  Now,  mon 
ami,  my  countree-man,  ve  vill  have  de  dinner."  I  get  up  for 
de  cloth  to  put  under  my  chin,  dat  I  may  no  grease  my  frill 
vid  de  soup  ;  ma  foi !  ven  I  come  back  to  help  myself  dere  is 
none! — mon  ami,  my  countree-man,  he  has  swallow  it  all  up. 
Veil,  ve  liave  de  littel  joke  about  de  soup,  sure  not  to  grease 
my  frill  now,  and  I  go  to  take  some  mouton ;  ma  foi  dere  is 
only  de  bones !  mon  ami,  mon  countree-man,  he  have  eat  up  all 
de  meat — but  he  vas  a  very  jonteel  man  for  all  dat.     Veil,  vo 


248  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

have  de  littel  joke,  and  I  laugh  a  littel,  on  de  wrong  side  of 
my  mi)utl),  about  my  friend  eat  all  de  meat  and  leave  me  de 
hone  :  and  I  go  to  make  shift  vid  de  crust  of  hrend — but,  par- 
bleu  !  dere  is  no  bread  at  all !  mon  ami,  my  countree-man,  he 
eat  all  de  bread  vhile  I  eat  de  soup.  Ye  have  not  de  littel 
joke  dis  time,  and  I  content  myself  vid  de  cheese  paring  and 
de  bit  of  salt.  At  last  it  come  time  to  go  to  bed  ;  and  1  say  : 
"  Mon  ami,  my  countree-man,  ve  vill  aller  coucher,  put  our 
heads  in  de  night-cap."  Veil,  I  pull  off  my  coat,  and  dere  is 
my  vaist-coat ;  mon  ami,  my  countree-man  pull  of  his  coat,  ma 
foi !  dere  is  no  vaist-coat  at  all.  I  say  :  "  Mon  ami,  my  coun- 
tree-man, dere  is  de  old  sack  de  man  bring  vid  de  pomme 
de  terre.  You  shall  make  shift  vid  dat.  Yell,  he  lay  down 
on  de  potatoe  sack,  and  I  go  to  sleep. — In  de  morning  I  vake 
and  look  for  mon  ami,  ray  countree-man  ; — andparbleu!  he  is 
no  dere !  I  look  and  he  is  gone  ! — I  say  I  say  I  will  put  on 
my  clothes  and  see  if  he  is  down  stairs.  I  look  for  my  tings 
and  parbleu  dey  is  no  dere,  no  more  is  my  hat,  nor  my  stock- 
ing, nor  my  shoe,  nor  my  anyting  :  but  dere  is  de  chapeau  vid 
de  hole  in  de  top,  de  pantaloon  out  of  de  knee,  de  shoe  dat 
have  no  sole,  and  very  littel  body,  and  de  greasy,  rusty,  ragged 
habit  of  mon  ami,  my -countree-man.  Yell,  I  say,  he  has  dress 
himself  in  all  my  tings  by  mistake;  he  have  no  money  no 
credit,  no  logement ;  he  make  shift  and  sleep  in  my  potatoe 
sack  ;  he  get  up  vhile  I  sleep  and  run  avay  vid  all  my  clothes ; 
it  is  all  very  bad,  ma  foi ! — Yell !  I  make  de  fire  vid  his  old 
clothes,  and  dey  vere  too  bad  for  me,  and  I  wrap  myself  up  in 
de  blanket  and  I  tink  I  will  go  to  vork  ;  ven,  parbleu !  I  find 
all  de  vatclies  dat  vas  left  by  my  customers,  because  dey  would 
not  go,  had  all  go  vhile  I  vas  asleep !  mon  ami,  my  countree- 
man  had  taken  dem  vhile  I  vas  dormi,  and  I  vas  ruin,  and 
oblige  to  run  avay — but  he  vas  a  very  jont. el  man  for  all  dat. 

BfLLY   AND   BETTY. 

As  Billy  and  Betty  were  sparking  one  night, 

"  Gi-ammercy,"  said  he,  and  turned  pale  with  affright ; 

"  Grammercy,  dear  Betty,  a  funeral  is  near, 

For  a  death-watch  is  ticking  e'en  now  in  my  ear." 


SELECTIONS,  249 

!N'ow  Betty  applied  her  left  ear  to  his  right, 
Pit-a-pat  went  her  heart  and  her  hair  stood  upright. 
Now  while  she  was  listening  it  happened  just  then 
The  clock  in  the  parlor  hegan  to  strike  ten. 

"  1  hear  it,"  cried  Betty,  and  panted  for  breath  ; 

"  'Tis  surely  a  death-watch,  a  token  of  death, 
Alas,  for  us  all,  what  terrible  signs, 
Tray  howls  every  night  and  the  tabby  cat  whines. 

"  To-day  I  was  spinning,  and  out  flew  a  coal 
And  here  in  my  bran  new  gown  burnt  a  huge  hole. 
Last  week  a  hen  crow'd,  and  to-day  the  cat  dozed 
With  one  eye  wide  open  and  the  other  fast  closed. 

"  Three  times  in  the  candle  a  coiSn  I've  seen. 

Which  signifies  death,  or  pray  what  does  it  mean  ?" 
**To  be  sure  it  means  death,"  replied  Will  with  a  groan, 
"  Somer  one  in  this  house  will  be  dead  very  soon. 

"  To-day  when  I  put  on  the  fire  an  old  stick, 
A  maggot  was  in  it,  I  heard  it  go  click. 
This  moment  a  peach-tree  is  in  second  bloom. 
And  the  grass  has  decayed  on  the  family  tomb. 

"  Last  night  when  I  rode  by  the  church-yard  alone 
A  whippoorwil  sat  on  the  marble  tombstone. 
At  that  instant  a  shooting  star  came 
Plump  into  the  grave-yard  and  sparkled  like  time." 

"  Oh!  dear,"  cried  Betty,  and  seized  Billy's  arm  : 
*'  Oh  I  forgive  me,"  said  Will,  *'  T  don't  mean  any  harm, 
But  as  I  was  saying,  a  death  will  take  place, 
For  the  signs  are  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  my  face. 

*'  Last  night  as  I  was  riding,  old  Dobbin  ne'er  scares. 
By  the  gate  of  the  church-yar.l,  he  pricked  up  his  ears; 
Then  plunging  aside — with  a  terrible  snort — 
He  stared  at  the  yew-tree  and  breathed  very  short. 
11* 


250  VOICE    AND    ACTION. 

So  I  mumbled  a  prayer,  and  my  bosom  I  crossed, 
For  I  knew  that  old  Dobbin  was  spying  a  ghost." 
"  Oh !  Billy,  don't  frighten  me  so, 
Good  lack,  don't  you  think  the  candle  burns  blue  ? " 

*'  As  blue  as  my  coat,  and  I  wish  I  may  die 
If  I  don't  smell  brimstone."     "  Oh  !  dear,  so  do  I." 
Now  while  they  were  staring  with  speechless  affright 
A  puff  from  the  window  extinguished  their  light. 

Each  started  and  screamed,  but  sad  to  relate, 
Their  stools  were  capsized  on  the  tail  of  the  cat. 
The  cat  squalled  aloud,  and  the  lovers  both  roar'd. 
Which  roused  up  a  dog  in  the  corner  that  snor'd. 

And  now  there  was  barking,  and  mewing,  and  biting, 
And  scratching,  and  squalling,  and  screaming,  and  fighting. 
This  moment  the  old  negro  ran  into  the  room, 
And  by  the  light  of  the  lire  was  seen  thro'  the  gloom. 

They  saw  him  half-clothed  and  blacker  than  night. 
With  bright  rolling  eye-balls  and  teeth  grinning  white, 
And  both  in  a  panic  dropt  down  on  their  knees, 
Crying,  "  Oh !  sweet  Mr.  Devil,  oh  !  pray  if  you  please." 

Old  Cuffy  replied,  with  a  most  ludicrous  stare, 
**  Why,  I'se  not  de  debbil,  I'se  Cuffy,"  ''  Why  so  you  are !  " 
Thus  ended  the  uproar,  and  thus  ends  the  wrong; 
In  short,  to  be  brief,  one  should  never  be  long. 


FORTITUDE    OF   THE   INDIAN   OHAEAOTEE. 

A  party  of  the  Seneca  Indians  came  to  war  against  the 
Katawbas,  bitter  enemies  to  each  other.  In  the  woods  the 
former  discovered  a  sprightly  warrior  belonging  to  the  latter, 
Imnting  in  their  usual  light  dress:  on  his  perceiving  them,  he 
sprang  off  for  a  hollow  rock  four  or  five  miles  distant,  as  they 


SELECTIONS.  251 

intercepted  him  from  running  homeward.  He  was  so  ex- 
tremely swift,  and  skilful  with  the  gun,  as  to  kill  seven  of  them, 
in  the  running  fight  before  they  were  able  to  surround  and 
take  him.  They  carried  him  to  their  comitry  in  sad  triumph: 
but  though  he  had  tilled  them  with  uncommon  grief  and 
shame  for  the  loss  of  so  m.'iny  of  their  kindred,  yet  the  love  of 
martial  virtue  induced  tliem  to  treat  him,  during  their  long 
journey,  with  a  great  deal  more  civility  than  if  he  had  acted 
the  part  of  a  coward. 

The  women  and  children,  when  they  met  him  at  their  sev- 
eral towns,  beat  him  and  whipped  him  in  as  severe  a  manner 
as  the  occasion  required,  according  to  their  law  of  justice;  and 
at  last  he  was  formally  condemned  to  die  by  the  fiery  torture. 
It  might  reasonably  be  imagined  that  what  he  h:id  for  some 
time  gone  through  by  being  fed  with  a  scanty  hand,  a  tedious 
march,  lying  at  night  on  the  bare  ground,  exposed  to  the 
changes  of  the  weather,  with  his  arms  and  legs  extended  in  a 
pair  of  rough  stocks,  and  suffering  such  punishment  on  his 
entering  into  their  hostile  towns,  as  a  prelude  to  those  sharper 
torments  to  whicli  he  was  destined,  would  have  so  impaired 
his  health,  and  afifected  his  imaginati  n,  as  to  have  sent  him  to 
his  hmg  sleep,  out  of  the  way  of  any  more  sufferings. 

Probably  this  would  have  been  the  case  wiih  the  major 
part  of  white  people  under  similar  circumstances ;  but  I  never 
knew  this  with  any  of  the  Ind-ans;  and  this  cool-headed, 
brave  warrior,  did  not  deviate  from  their  rough  lessons  of 
martial  virtue,  but  acted  his  part  so  well  as  to  surprise  and 
sorely  vex  his  numerous  enemies:  for  wlicn  they  were  taking 
him  unjjinioned,  in  their  wild  parade,  to  the  jjlace  of  torture, 
which  lay  near  the  river,  he  suddenly  dashed  down  thoso  who 
stood  in  his  way,  sprung  ofif,  and  plunged  into  the  w^ater, 
swimming  underneath  like  an  otter,  only  rising  to  take  breath, 
till  he  reached  the  opposite  shore. 

He  ascended  the  steep  bank,  but  though  he  had  good 
reason  to  be  in  a  hurry,  as  many  of  tlie  enemy  were  in  the 
water,  and  others  running,  like  blood-hounds,  in  pursuit  of 
him,  and  the  bullets  flying  around  him  from  the  time  he  took 
to  the  river,  yet  his  heart  did  iiot  allow  him  to  leave  them 
abruptly.     He  chose  to  take  leave  in   a  formal  manner,  in 


252  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

return  for  the  extraordinary  favors  they  had  done,  and  intended 
to  do  him.  So  stopping  a  moment,  he  bid  them  defiance,  in 
the  genuine  style  of  Indian  galhmtry,  he  pnt  up  the  shrill 
warwhoop,  as  his  last  salute,  till  some  more  convenient  oppor- 
tunity offered,  and  darted  off  in  the  manner  of  a  beast  broke 
loose  from  its  torturing  enemies. 

He  continued  his  speed,  so  as  to  run,  by  about  midnight 
of  the  same  day,  as  far  as  his  eager  pursuers  were  two  days  in 
reaching.  There  he  rested,  till  he  happily  discovered  five  of 
those  Indians  who  had  pursued  him :  he  lay  hid  a  little  way 
off  their  camp,  till  they  were  sound  asleep.  Every  circum- 
stance of  his  situation  occurred  to  him  and  inspired  him  with 
heroism.  He  was  naked,  torn,  and  hungry,  and  his  enraged 
enemies  were  come  up  with  him;  but  there  was  everything 
to  relieve  his  wants,  and  a  fair  opportunity  to  save  his  life,  and 
get  great  honor  and  sweet  revenge  by  cutting  them  off.  Reso- 
lution, a  convenient  spot,  and  sudden  surprise,  would  effect  the 
main  object  of  all  his  wishes  and  hopes. 

He  accordingly  crept,  took  one  of  their  tomahawks,  and 
killed  them  all  on  the  spot,  clothed  himself,  and  took  a  choice 
gun,  and  as  much  ammunition  and  provision  as  he  could  well 
carry  in  a  running  march.  He  set  off  afresh  with  a  light  heart, 
and  did  not  sleep  for  several  successive  nights,  except  when  he 
reclined  as  usual,  a  little  before  day,  with  his  back  to  a  tree. 

As  it  were  by  instinct,  when  he  found  he  was  free  from 
the  pursuing  enemy,  he  made  directly  to  the  very  place  where 
he  had  been  taken  prisoner  and  doom.ed  to  the  fiery  torture, 
after  having  killed  seven  of  his  enemies.  The  bodies  of  these 
he  dug  up,  burnt  them  to  ashes,  and  went  home  in  safety  with 
singular  triumph.  Other  pursuing  enemies  came,  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  second  day,  to  the  camp  of  their  dead  people,  when 
the  sight  gave  them  a  greater  shock  than  they  ever  had  known 
before.  In  their  chilled  war  council  they  concluded  tljat  as 
he  had  done  such  surprising  things  in  his  defence  before  he 
was  captivated,  and  even  after  that  in  his  condition,  he  must 
surely  be  an  enemy  wizard ;  and  that,  as  he  was  now  well 
armed,  he  would  destroy  them  all  should  they  continue  the 
pursuit ;  they  therefore  very  prudently  returned  home. 


SELECTIONS.  253 


DEFENCE    OF  LITERARY   STUDIES    IN   MEN   OF 
BUSINESS. 

Among  the  ca-utions  which  prudence  and  worldly  wisdom 
inculcate  on  the  young,  or  at  least  among  those  sober  truths 
wliich  experience  often  pretends  to  have  acquired,  is  that  dan- 
ger which  is  said  to  result  from  the  pursuit  of  letters  and  of 
science,  in  men  destined  for  the  labors  of  business,  for  the 
active  exertions  of  professional  life.  The  abstraction  of  learn- 
ing, the  speculations  of  science,  and  the  visionary  excursions 
of  fancy,  are  fatal,  it  is  said,  to  the  study  of  common  objects, 
to  the  habits  of  plodidng  industry  which  ordinary  business 
demands.  The  fineness  of  mind  which  is  created  or  increased 
by  the  study  of  letters,  or  the  admiration  of  the  arts,  is  sup- 
posed to  incapacitate  a  man  for  the  drudgery  by  which  pro- 
fessional eminence  is  gained ;  as  a  nicely  tempered  edge 
applied  to  a  coarse  and  rugged  material  is  unable  to  perform 
wliat  a  more  common  instrument  would  have  successfully 
achieved.  A  young  man  destined  for  law  or  commerce  is 
advised  to  look  only  into  his  folio  of  precedents,  or  liis  method 
of  book-keeping;  and  dulness  is  pointed  to  his  homage,  as 
that  benevolent  goddess,  under  whose  protection  the  honors 
of  station  and  the  blessings  of  opulence  are  to  be  attained ; 
while  learning  and  genius  are  proscribed  as  leading  their 
votaries  to  barren  indigence  and  merited  neglect. 

In  doubting  the  truth  of  these  assertions,  I  think  I  shall  not 
entertain  any  hurtful  degree  of  skepticism,  because  the  general 
current  of  opinion  seems  of  late  years  to  have  set  too  strongly 
in  the  contrary  direction  :  and  one  may  endeavor  to  prop  the 
falling  cause  of  literature  without  being  accused  of  blamable 
or  dangerous  partiality. 

In  the  examples  which  memory  and  experience  produce  of 
idleness,  of  dissipation,  and  of  poverty,  brought  on  by  indul- 
gence of  literary  or  poetical  enthusiasm,  the  evidence  must 
necessarily  be  <»n  one  side  of  the  question  only.  Of  the  few 
whom  learning  or  genius  has  led  astray,  the  ill  success  or  the 
ruin  is  marked  by  the  celebrity  of  the  suiferer.  Of  the  many 
who  have  been  as  dull  as  they  were  profligate,  and  as  ignorant 


254  VOICE    AND   ACTION-. 

as  tliey  were  poor,  the  fate  is  unknown,  from  the  insignificance 
of  those  by  whom  it  was  endured.  If  we  may  reason  api^iori 
on  the  matter,  the  chance,  I  think,  should  be  on  the  side  of 
literature. 

In  young  minds  of  any  vivacity,  there  is  a  natural  aversion 
to  the  drudgery  of  business,  w^hich  is  seldom  overcome,  till  the 
effervescence  of  youth  is  allayed  by  the  progress  of  time  and 
habit,  or  till  that  very  warmth  is  enlisted  on  the  side  of  their 
profession,  by  the  opening  prospects  of  ambition  or  emolument. 
From  this  tyranny,  as  youth,  conceives  it,  of  attention  and 
of  labor,  relief  is  commonly  sought  from  some  favorite  avoca- 
tion or  amusement,  for  which  a  young  man  either  finds  or  steals 
a  portion  of  his  time,  either  patiently  plods  through  his  task, 
in  expectation  of  its  approach,  or  anticipates  its  arrival  by  de- 
serting his  work  before  the  legal  period  for  amusement  is  ar- 
rived. It  may  fairly  be  questioned  whether  the  most  innocent 
of  those  amusements,  is  either  so  honorable  or  so  safe  as  the 
avocation  of  learning  or  of  science.  Of  minds  uninformed  and 
gross,  whom  youthful  spirits  agitate,  butfancy  and  feeling  have 
no  power  to  impel,  the  amusement  will  generally  be  either 
boisterous  or  effeminate,  will  either  dissipate  their  attention  or 
weaken  their  force.  The  employment  of  a  young  man's  vacant 
hours  is  often  too  little  attended  to  by  those  rigid  masters  who 
exact  the  most  scrupulous  observance  of  the  periods  destined 
for  business.  The  waste  of  time  is  undoubtedly  a  very  calcu- 
lable loss  of  much  higher  denomination.  The  votary  of  study 
or  the  enthusiast  of  fancy,  may  incur  the  first,  but  the  latter 
will  be  suffered  chiefly  by  him  whom  ignorance  or  want  of 
imagination  has  left  to  the  grossness  of  mere  sensual  enjoy- 
ments. 

In  this,  as  in  other  respects,  the  love  of  letters  is  friendly  to 
sober  manners  and  virtuous  conduct,  which  in  every  profession 
is  the  road  to  success,  and  to  respect,  without  adopting  the 
common  place  reflections  against  some  particular  departments, 
it  must  be  allowed  that  in  mere  men  of  business  there  is  a  cer- 
tain professional  rule  of  right,  which  is  not  always  honorable, 
and  though  tneant  to  be  selfish,  very  seldom  profits.  A  supe- 
rior education  generally  corrects  this,  by  opening  the  mind  to 
different  motives  of  action,  to  the  feelings  of  delicacy,  the  sense 


SELECTIOJq^S.  255 

of  honor,  and  a  contempt  of  wealth,  when  earned  bj  a  deser- 
tion of  those  principles. 

To  the  improvement  of  our  faculties  as  well  as  of  our  prin- 
ciples, the  love  of  letters  appears  to  be  favorable.  Letters 
require  a  certain  sort  of  application,  though  of  a  kind  very  dif- 
ferent from  that  which  business  would  recommend.  Granting 
that  they  are  unprofitable  in  themselves,  as  that  word  is  used 
in  the  language  of  the  world,  yet,  as  developing  the  powers  of 
thought  and  reflection,  they  may  be  an  amusement  of  some 
use,  as  those  sports  of  children  in  which  numbers  are  used  to 
familiarize  them  to  the  elements  of  arithmetic.  They  give  room 
for  the  exercise  of  that  discernment,  that  comparison  of  objects, 
that  distinction  of  causes  which  is  to  increase  the  skill  of  the 
physician,  to  guide  the  speculations  of  the  merchant,  and  to 
prompt  the  arguments  of  the  lawyer  ;  and  though  some  pro- 
fessions employ  but  very  few  faculties  of  the  mind,  yet  there  is 
scarce  any  branch  of  business  in  which  a  man  who  can  think 
will  not  excel  him  who  can  only  labor.  We  shall  accordingly 
find,  in  many  departments  where  learned  information  seemed 
of  all  qualities  the  least  necessary,  that  those  who  possessed  it 
in  a  degree  above  their  fellows,  have  found,  from  that  very 
circumstance,  the  road  to  eminence  and  wealth. 

But  Tmust  often  repeat,  that  wealth  does  not  necessarily 
create  happiness,  nor  confer  dignity  ;  a  truth  which  it  may  be 
thought  declamation  to  insist  on,  which  the  present  time  seems 
particularly  to  require  being  told. 

The  love  of  letters  is  connected  with  an  independence  and 
delicacy  of  mind,  which  is  a  great  preservative  against  that 
servile  homage  which  abject  men  pay  to  fortune ;  and  there  is 
a  certain  classical  pride,  which  from  the  society  of  Socrates 
and  Plato,  Cicero  and  Atticus,  looks  down  with  an  honest  dis- 
dain on  the  wealth-blown  insects  of  modern  times,  neither  en- 
lightened by  knowledge  nor  ennobled  by  virtue. 

In  the  possession,  indeed,  of  what  he  has  attained  in  that  rest 
and  retirement  from  his  labors,  with  the  hopes  of  which  his  fa- 
tigues were  lightened  and  his  cares  were  smoothed,  the  mere 
man  of  business  frequently  undergoes  suffering  instead  of  finding 
enjoyment.  To  be  busy  as  one  ought  is  an  easy  art ;  but  to  know 
hovv  to  be  idle  is  a  very  superior  accomplishment.     This  diffi- 


256  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

ciiltj  is  much  increased  with  persons  to  whom  the  habit  of 
empk^yment  has  m  de  some  active  exertion  necessary;  who 
cannot  sleep  contented  in  the  torpor  of  indolence,  or  aniu-e 
themselves  with  those  lighter  trifles  in  which  he,  who  inherited 
idleness  as  he  did  fortune  from  his  ancestors,  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  find  amusement.  The  miseries  and  misfortunes  of 
the  ^'  retired  pleasures  "  of  men  of  business  have  been  frequently 
matters  of  speculation  to  the  moralist,  and  of  ridicule  to  the 
wit.  But  he  who  has  mixed  general  knowledge  with  profes- 
sional skill,  and  literary  amusements  with  professional  labor^ 
will  have  some  stock  wherewith  to  support  him  in  idleness, 
some  spring  for  his  mind  when  unbent  from  business,  some 
employment  for  those  hours  which  retirement  and  solitude  has 
left  vacant  and  unoccupied.  Independence  in  the  use  of  one's 
time  is  not  the  least  valuable  species  of  freedom.  This  liberty 
the  man  of  letters  enjoys;  while  the  ignorant  and  the  illiterate 
often  retire  from  the  thraldom  of  business  only  to  become  the 
slaves  of  languor,  intemperance,  or  vice. 

But  the  situation  in  which  the  advantages  of  that  endow- 
ment of  mind,  which  letters  bestow,  are  chiefly  conspicuous,  is 
old  age,  when  a  man's  society  is  necessarily  circumscribed,  and 
his  powers  of  active  enjoyment  are  unavoidably  diminished. 
Unfit  for  the  bustle  of  aflfairs,  and  the  amusements  of  his  youth, 
an  old  man,  if  he  has  no  source  of  mental  exertion  or  employ- 
ment, often  settles  into  the  gloom  of  melancholy  and  peevish- 
ness, or  petrifies  his  feelings  by  habitual  intoxication.  From 
an  old  man  whose  gratifications  were  solely  derived  from  those 
sensual  appetites  which  time  has  blunted,  or  from  those  trivial 
amusements  of  which  youth  only  can  share,  age  has  cut  off 
almost  every  source  of  enjoyment.  But  to  him  who  has  stored 
his  mind  with  the  information,  and  can  still  employ  it  in  the 
amusement  of  letters,  this  blank  of  life  is  admirably  filled  np. 
He  acts,  he  thinks,  he  feels  with  that  literary  world  whose  so- 
ciety he  can  at  all  times  enjoy.  There  is  perhaps  no  state  more 
capable  of  comfort  to  ourselves,  or  more  attractive  of  venera- 
tion from  others,  than  that  which  such  an  old  age  affords;  it 
is  then  the  twilight  of  the  passions,  when  they  are  mitigated 
but  not  extinguished,  and  spread  their  gentle  influence  over  the 
evening  of  our  day,  in  alliance  with  reason  and  in  amity  with 
virtue.  Mackenzie. 


SELECTIONS.  257 

PSALM  CXXXYII. 

(scotch   YEKSION,)    as   EEAD   by   EDWAKD    IRVING. 

By  Babel's  streams  we  sat  and  wept  |  when  Zion  we  thought 

on; 
In  midst  thereof  we  hang'd  onr  harps  |  the  willow  trees  upon. 
For  there  a  song  required  they,  |  who  did  us  captive  bring : 
Our  spoilers  call'd  for  mirth  and  said,  |  a  song  of  Zion  sing. 

Ohow  the  Lord's  song  shall  we  sirg  |  within  a  foreign  land  ? 
If  thee,  Jerusalem,  I  forget,  |  skill  part  from  my  right  hand. 
My  tongue  to  my  mouth's  roof  let  cleave,  |  if  I  do  thee  forget, 
Jerusalem,  and  thee  above  |  my  chief  joy  do  not  set. 

Eemember  Edom's  children,  Lord,  |  who  in  Jerus'lem's  days, 
Ev'n  unto  its  foundation,  |  Eaze,  raze  it  quite,  did  say. 
O  daughter  thou  of  Babylon,  |  near  to  destruction  ;    . 
Bless'd  shall  be  he  that  thee  rewards,  |  as  thou  to  us  hast  done. 

Yea,  happy  surely  shall  he  be — thy  tender  little  ones 
Who  shall  lay  hold  upon,  and  them  |  shall  dash   against  the 
stones. 

SLAIN  AT  SADOWA. — Bloomfield  Jackson, 

The  cannon  were  belching  their  last 
O'er  the  fields  where  the  routed  were  flying,  ^ 

And  shouting  pursuers  strode  fast 

Through  the  heaps  of  the  dead  and  the  dying. 

"War's  rage  was  beginning  to  wane ; 

The  fierce  cared  no  longer  to  strike ; 
And  the  good  stooped  to  soften  the  pain 

Of  victors  and  vanquished  alike. 

A  yellow-haired  Austrian  lad 
Lay  at  length  on  a  shot-furrowed  bank  ; 

He  was  comely  and  daintily  clad 
In  the  glittering  dress  of  his  rank. 


258  VOICE   AND   ACTION. 

l^ot  so  wliite,  though,  his  coat  as  his  cheek, 
^tsTor  so  red  the  sash,  crossing  his  chest, 

As  the  horrible  crimson  streak 

Of  blood  that  had  welled  from  his  breast  I 

His  foes  approached  where  be  was  laid, 
To  bear  him  in  reach  of  their  skill ; 
But  he  murmured,  *'  Give  others  jour  aid  ; 
By  our  Fatherland  !  let  me  lie  still." 

At  dawn  they  came  searching  again. 
To  winnow  the  quick  from  the  dead ; 

The  boy  was  set  free  from  his  pain. 
And  his  faithful  young  spirit  had  fled. 

As  they  lifted  his  limbs  from  the  ground. 
To  hide  them  away  out  of  sight, 

Lo  !  under  his  bosom  they  found 

The  flag  he  had  borne  through  the  fight. 

He  had  folded  the  silk  he  loved  well, 
Lest  a  thread  should  be  seen  at  his  side  : 

To  wave  it  in  triumph  he  fell ; 
To  save  it  from  capture  he  died. 

The  head  of  the  sternest  was  bared 
As  they  gazed  on  the  shot-riven  rag, 

And  the  hand  of  the  hardiest  spared 
To  make  prey  of  that  Austrian  flag. 

O'er  the  tomb  of  their  brother  they  bowed, 
With  a  prayer  for  a  spirit  as  brave  ; 

And  they  gave  him  the  flag  for  a  shroud 
In  his  narrow  and  nameless  grave. 


SELECTIONS.  259 

THE    CHILDREN   IN   THE   MOON. 

Hearken,  child,  unto  a  story ! 

For  the  moon  is  in  the  sky, 
And  across  her  shield  of  silver, 

See !  two  tiny  cloudlets  fly. 

Watch  them  closely,  mark  them  sharply, 

As  across  the  light  they  piss, — 
Seem  they  not  to  have  the  figures 

Of  a  little  lad  and  lass  ? 

See,  my  child,  across  tlieir  shoulders 

Lies  a  little  pole !  and  lo  ! 
Yonder  speck  is  just  the  bucket, 

Swinging  softly  to  and  fro. 

It  is  said,  these  little  children. 

Many  and  many  a  Summer  night, 
To  a  little  well  far  northward 

Wandered  in  the  still  moonlight. 

To  the  wayside  well  they  trotted. 

Filled  their  little  buckets  there. 
And  the  Moon-man  looking  downwards, 

Saw  how  beautiful  they  were. 

Quoth  the  man,  "  How  vexed  and  sulky 

Looks  the  little  rosy  boy  ! 
But  the  little  handsome  maiden 

Trips  behind  him  full  of  joy. 

To  the  well  behind  the  hedgerow 

Trot  the  little  lad  and  maiden ; 
From  the  well  behind  the  hedgerow 

Kow  the  little  pail  is  laden. 

How  they  please  me !  how  they  tempt  me ! 

Shall  I  snatch  them  up  to  night  ? 
Snatch  them,  set  them  here  for  ever, 

In  the  middle  of  my  light  ? 


260  VOICE    AND   ACTION. 

Children,  ay,  and  children's  children 
Shoidd  behold  my  babes  on  high, 

And  my  babes  should  smile  for  ever, 
Calling  others  to  the  sky !  " 

Thus  the  philosophic  Moon-man 
Muttered  many  years  ago. 

Set  the  babes  with  pole  and  bucket, 
To  delight  the  folks  below. 

Never  is  the  bucket  empty, 
ISTever  are  the  children  old; 

Ever  when  the  moon  is  shining 
We  the  children  may  behold. 

Ever  young  and  ever  little, 
Ever  sweet  and  ever  fair ! 

When  thou  art  a  man,  my  darling, 
Still  the  children  will  be  there  I 

Ever  young,  and  ever  little. 

They  will  smile  when  thou  art  old! 

When  thy  locks  are  thin  and  silver 
Theirs  will  still  be  si  lining  gold. 

They  will  haunt  you  from  their  heaven, 
Softly  beckoning  down  the  gloom — 

Smiling  in  eternal  sweetness 
On  thy  cradle,  on  thy  tomb  ! 


SHERIDAN  S   EIDE. 

{By  T.  Buchanan  Read^ 
Up  from  the  South  at  break  of  day. 
Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay; 
The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 
Like  a  herald  in  haste  to  the  chieftain's  door, 
The  terrible  grumble  and  rumble  and  roar, 
Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more. 
And  Sheridan  was  twenty  miles  away. 


SELECTIONS.  261 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 

Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar, 

And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  rolled 

The  war  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled, 

Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold. 

As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 

And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 


But  there's  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 

A  good,  broad  highway  leading  down  ; 

And  there,  through  the  flush  of  the  morning  light, 

A  steed,  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  night, 

Was  seen  to  pass  as  with  eagle  flight ; 

As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need, 

He  stretched  away  with  his  utmost  speed; 

Hills  rose  and  fell,  but  his  heart  was  gay, 

With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 

Still  sprung  from  those  swift  hoofs  thundering  South, 
Tlie  dust,  like  the  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth. 
Or  the  trail  of  a  conet  sweeping  faster  and  faster, 
Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster; 
The  heart  of  the  steed  and  the  heart  of  the  master 
Were  beating  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls. 
Impatient  to  be  where  the  battle-field  calls ; 
Every  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full  play. 
With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 

Under  his  spurning  feet,  the  road 

Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed, 

And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind. 

Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind  ; 

And  the  steed,  like  a  bark  fed  with  with  furnace  ire 

Swept  on,  with  his  wild  eyes  full  of  fire. 

But,  lo !  he  is  nearing  his  heart's  desire ; 

He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray, 

With  Sheridan  only  five  miles  away. 


262  VOICE   AND    ACTION. 

The  first  that  the  General  saw  were  the  groups 

Of  stragglers  and  then  the  retreating  troops ; — 

What  was  done — wliat  to  do — a  glance  told  him  both ; 

Then  striking  his  spurs,  with  a  terrible  oath, 

He  dashed  down  the  line  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzas, 

And  the  wave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there  because 

The  sight  of  the  master  compelled  it  to  pause. 

With  foam  and  with  dust  the  black  charger  was  gray ; 

By  the  flash  of  his  eye,  and  his  red  nostrils'  play, 

He  seemed  to  the  whole  great  army  to  say  ; 

"  I  have  brought  you  Sheridan  all  the  way 

From  Winchester  down  to  save  the  day  1  " 

Hurrah,  hurrah  for  Sheridan! 

Hurrah,  hurrah  for  horse  and  man  ! 

And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high 

Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky, 

The  American  Soldiers'  Temple  of  Fame, 

There  with  the  glorious  general's  name 

Be  it  said  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright : 

Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 

By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight, 

From  Winchester — twenty  miles  away! " 


CLASSES— RE^Diisras. 


Persons  desirous  of  forming  classes  for  instruction,  or  wish- 
ing an  evening's  Enteetainment  of  Readings  for  the  public, 
or  in  the  social  circle,  are  respectfully  requested  to  address — 

J.  E.  FROBISHER, 

New  Yoek. 


T?ESTi3N^onsri..A.iijs. 


Odd-Fellow's  Hall  was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity,  last 
night,  to  hear  Mr.  Feobisher  and  his  class.  All  our  teachers 
have  taken  lessons,  besides  many  pupils  in  the  High  and  Ward 
schools. — Zanesville  Courier, 

We  most  cordially  commend  him  as  an  able,  efficient,  and 
faithful  teacher. — Graduating  Gl-  88  and  Junior8,  Dartmouth 
College. 

Mr.  Feobishee  has  given  entire  satisfaction,  and  we  heartily 
recommend  him  as  a  very  able  teacher. — Students  of  Kenyon 
College. 

In  our  opinion  he  has  few  equals  in  this  noble  art,  and  we 
therefore  commend  him  as  a  successful  and  industrious  teacher. 
—  Under  Graduates  and  Students  of  FranMin  College, 

His  Lecture  before  the  Teacher^s  Association  was  received 
with  rapturous  applause.  All  were  delighted. —  Cleveland 
Daily  Herald, 

We  cheerfully  recommend  him  as  an  efficient  and  faithful 
teacher  of  Elocution. — Students  of  Victoria  College^  Canada, 

Mr.  Feobisher  delivered  his  Lecture  before  the  Institute  to 
a  delighted  audience. — Port-Hope  Guide,   Canada. 


264  TESTIMONIALS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frobisher  gave  tlieir  second  entertainment 
before  a  large  and  well-filled  house,  and  were  loudly  applauded. 
"  Hagar,"  by  Mrs.  Frobisher,  drew  tears  from  the  audience. 
Mr.  Frobisher  has  formed  a  number  of  classes,  several  of 
which  are  composed  of  young  ladies.  He  has  a  large  one  of 
the  members  of  the  Ontario  Literary  Society,  which  gives  fine 
satisfaction. — Toronto  Daily  Glole^  Canada, 

Mr.  Frobisher  has  been  lecturing  for  the  last  three  nights 
to  the  largest  audiences.  One  minute  you  could  hear  a  pin 
drop,  and  the  next  his  voice  would  be  drowned  in  thunders  of 
applause. — Bowmanville  Statesman,  Canada, 

As  a  whole,  the  Lecture  and  Keadings  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Frobisher  were  superior  to  anything  of  the  kiiid  we  have  had 
in  Toronto  for  a  considerable  period.  Mr.  Frobisher  is  a 
lineal  descendant  of  the  great  navigator,  Sir  Martin  Frobisher, 
of  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth  — Toronto  Daily  Glole^  Canada, 

The  Readings  were  of  the  highest  order,  and  the  applause 
which  so  continually  broke  in  upon  them  must  have  been  very 
encouraging  to  Mr.  Frobisher. — Boston  Daily  Courier, 

Professor  Frobisher  is  a  strong  advocate  of  the  natural  sys- 
tem of  delivery,  and  afltbrds  in  himself  an  excellent  example  of 
its  superiority.  His  '*  Bells"  are  exceedingly  effective,  and 
evince  an  astonishing  power  over  the  voice. — Montreal  Daily 
Gazette, 

DAILY   PAPERS    OF    NEW    YORK   CITY. 

Dodworth's  Hall  was  filled  by  an  appreciative  audience. 
The  entertainment  was  a  decided  success. —  World, 

The  Readings  at  Dodworth  Hall  were  attended  by  a  highly 
intelligent  audience,  completfly  filling  the  room.  The  pieces 
were  well  selected,  and  were  received  with  enthusiastic  ap- 
plause.— Ti'idune, 

The  Readings  by  Professor  Frobisher,  at  Dodworth  Hall, 
were  well  attended,  and  proved  one  of  the  most  successful  enter- 
tainments of  the  kind  that  has  been  given  for  some  time. — 
Times, 


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